The theory of General relativity
by PodBayDoors
Summary: If he loses her now, he might be able to save her later. Sequel to As the World Doesn't Turn, the story begins between the end of SGA and start of SGU and on into the future. Sam and Jack, established.
1. Compression Interlude

**The theory of General relativity**

This is a sequel to _As the World Doesn't Turn_, but it will still make sense if you haven't read that fic. Sam and Jack, established. It's set right after the SGA episode _Enemy at the Gate_ and contains spoilers for that episode. Spoilers for SGU but i could also be totally wrong! In this timeline, couple of years have passed since _As the World_.. but since I haven't watched most of season 9 or 10 I can't write for it. And I kind of like being in a world without it. :)

Thanks to **Jann** for inspiration, **Dee** for her awesome beta-powers and the S/J Ship Family at GW for the encouragement! You guys rock.

A long time ago I promised **Amy** something big- hope you like it. :)

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Stargate SG-1and SGA and its characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime / Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money changed hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author.

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The phone rings. He knows he has to answer it, but he can't- can't lift his hand, and can't make it stop. It keeps ringing, the landline that the Pentagon insists that he have in case the cell towers go dead, or the electricity goes out, or an EM pulse takes down all electronic communications. In case the world ends. The phone rings and rings; and General Jack O'Neill knows the only world that's ending is his.

It's the same nightmare three nights out of the five since Earth had been attacked.

---------------------------------------------------------------

The sun is barely above the horizon when Jack decides he can't wait any longer. It's a little like being a kid on Christmas morning, he thinks, smiling at himself as he suppresses the urge to jump on the bed and demand that she get up. Moving slowly instead, he sets the coffee cup down on the nightstand, seats himself down on the edge of the bed and waits patiently for her to open her eyes. Which she does rather slowly as if her dreams aren't anything like his, her eyes finally focusing on his face with an such an expression of contentment that it makes it his heart stick in his throat.

"Good morning," he says.

"Good morning?" she queries sleepily. "You owe me at least a "Hello, I missed you."

Well. There's no way he's going to feel the least bit guilty about the night before when, after weeks of separation, he'd finally made it to her doorstep and found her wearing- well, he honestly can't recall what she'd been wearing. Still, it's completely not his fault. "I said, 'hello,' he reminds her, turning to put his hands down on the bed on either side of her. "I thought you could figure out the 'I missed you' part."

She smiles and the shared memory seems to pass between them, the way he'd dropped his bag just inside the door, taken her face in his hands and kissed her, their conversation after that consisting of murmurs that were more felt than heard, breaths that didn't quite condense into words. And that sweet little whimper of surrender that's enough to boil the blood from his veins.

"So did you?" he asks.

"Did I what?" It's clear her mind has wandered, too, and that gives him a little burst of satisfaction.

"Figure it out." He dips his head until his lips just meet hers. She shifts, rolling slightly against his hip and he remembers that she hadn't bothered to put on any pajamas last night. Which means she's pretty much just wearing a sheet right now. "Or do you need more data?"

"I need…" she says, slowly and tantalizingly against his mouth, her hand rifling through his hair and giving him chills, "some of that coffee."

He lets out a little groan of frustration and sits up to fulfill her request, wondering whether he should be more worried about the fact that he isn't worried about the fact that he's totally whipped. Just as he hands her the cup the irritating sound of a cell phone jangles from the vicinity of the living room. "It's mine," she says, giving him her best doe-eyed look over the rim of the mug, "would you get it for me?"

"No," he smirks, reclining rather deliberately beside her to lie firmly on top of the sheet. And reclaim his pride. "I think you should go get it."

"Jack!"

"It could be important," he points out gravely. "It could be the IOA."

She rolls her eyes and with a little huff hands him the coffee, tosses back the sheet, and sprints from the room in an attempt to catch the phone before it quits ringing. He sighs deeply and takes a sip. In all of his travels across the known universe, he's never seen a sight that could compare with Sam Carter running buck-naked across the bedroom.

Giving her some privacy, he not so patiently waits for her to return, occupying himself with evaluating the bedroom. He has to admit that taking in the décor isn't usually on his mind when he's in here. The first thing he notices is a familiar 8x10 of himself sitting on top of the maple bureau. She's had that picture for a long time now, but he never can figure out when it might have been taken- it doesn't look recent- hell, he isn't even gray yet and he feels like he's been old and gray forever.

Until recently, that is. When Sam had finally come home.

His practiced eye continues scanning the room, coming to rest on the closet, clothes visible through the half-opened door. He notes the familiar combat boots right next to a pair of patent leather high heels, and smiles. Jack hates those damned social events, but always attends whenever Carter's in Washington, just so the world's elite can wonder about the hot blonde on his arm. A few people have heard of Colonel Sam Carter, but very few know Sam is actually Samantha and even fewer know what Samantha looks like- and Jack intends to keep it that way. Though if anyone makes the connection it's worth it just to see her blush and try to contain that radiant smile when they figure out that the woman in those killer shoes has kept them all from being killed on more than one occasion.

Meanwhile, a shoeless Carter stands in the doorway, listening intently to her phone while she buttons up one of the shirts she's taken out of his luggage. "Clever," he says with a feigned scowl, although it makes him almost as happy to see her in his shirt as it does to see her in nothing at all. She smiles, mouthing the word "coffee" while listening to what is undoubtedly the latest minor disaster incurred getting Icarus Base up and running. Deciding that he might as well give her her own personal cup since he can't give her anything else right now, he gets to his feet and slips by her, pausing to brush a kiss across the unoccupied ear. Then he walks down the hallway to the kitchen while she dispenses patient advice on how electronics can be expected to behave at 150 degrees.

When he returns he finds her rummaging through the top drawer of the bureau, phone still to her ear, and so he sets the mug down next to his picture and tries to wait patiently as his hand smooths his shirt down over her back, following the shirttail over her curves, rhythmic and reassuring, until she turns to face him. Jack wraps his arm around her waist and pulls her toward him, moving the fingers of his other hand to the buttons of the shirt and his lips to the soft, sensitive skin behind her ear just as she finishes the call.

"Jack… there's no time for this," she says unconvincingly.

"I know," he replies, his lips grazing across her earlobe as he frees another button, "but I only brought one extra dress shirt, and you're in it."

Laughing, she employs an evasive maneuver that separates him from his intended target. "We can't be late to the meeting, and we certainly can't be late _together_." Her hand reaches the coveted mug of hot liquid when the phone in her other hand rings again. "Damn. I'm never going to get any coffee."

"And I'm just never going to get any." He rolls his eyes with a dramatic sigh while she suppresses a smile and opens up the demanding phone once again.

"Oh, for cryin' out loud!," she exclaims, and Jack grins at the phrase. "It's Kelvin! Not Celsius. Geez." She goes back to rifling through the drawer, pulling out a few items that are not something Jack really needs to see right now. A black lace bra and real silk stockings, because she hates pantyhose. In fact, if he'd really known what she'd been wearing on that very first day, his dumbass "I like women" comment might have been backed up with something that would have been a real career-killer for both of them.

"It's better in this environment. No negative values," she says, tossing more silk on top of the dresser, delicate things meant for dressing up, not for work, and he starts to grow suspicious. They had planned to go out to dinner, to escape the constant talk of war- and he knows that Carter does like to be prepared. But this- this is deliberate, it's temptation. It's provocation made of silk and satin and he so wants to make her pay.

Tearing his eyes away from the visual torture, he moves behind her to caress the soft hair at the nape of her neck, first with his fingers and then with his lips, his hands running down her back and this time he doesn't stop at the hem. She stops speaking mid-sentence as his hands contact bare skin. "…it's, uh, sure. You can do that." He slides both hands back up her thighs, keeping contact as they slip under the shirttail, cupping her in his broad, firm grip. "That's fine, Major. Thank you." She signs off just as his teeth close gently on her skin. She tastes a little salty and it makes his heart beat a bit faster to recall how and why they both worked up such a sweat the night before.

"I think you just cost the taxpayers a million dollars." she weakly reprimands him, reaching back to run her fingers through his hair.

"Just trying to make FUBAR literally true," he grins against her throat.

"Jack…" she says with a fond annoyance as she forces herself to pull away. "We really _are_ going to be late." Then she scoops the lacy items from the top of the bureau.

"You're not wearing those to work, are you?"

Sam just gives him a sweet smile, lifts the hanger holding her uniform off of the top of the bathroom door, steps in and closes it behind her.

Oh. He is _so_ screwed. With a smile he shoves his hands in his front jeans pockets. He can't really say if it's because they're apart so much, or if it's just her. But life with Samantha Carter never, ever, gets old.

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They're both expected back at the nearly empty mountain by 0800. "Ramirez will be by to give me ride," he says, brushing off his hat while Sam picks up the last of the papers she has scattered across the couch, her tie unfastened and her pumps nowhere to be found. She looks up at him with a worried glance.

"It's better than you giving me a ride, don't you think?" he says.

"I guess, but…"

"Sam, nothing can possibly faze this woman." Jack's actually quite pleased that he'd been able to steal Major Val Ramirez away from the Pentagon, appreciating the way that she treats everything with the same indifference, be it frequent conversations with a certain Colonel or the President of the United States. Everything is dispatched with the same ruthless efficiency. Secretly, he thinks everyone is afraid to cross her and he reminds himself that he really needs to figure out why that is. "Aliens could barge into my office and all she'd be interested in was whether they had an appointment."

Sam manages to smile and kiss his cheek, but he turns his head and gave her a real kiss back, trying to eke out every last bit of her that he can get before heading off to the SGC. He reluctantly pulls away at the sound of a car parking next to the small house, then gives her a broad smile and walks out the door before Major Ramirez hauls him out by his ear.

"Good morning, Sir," she says evenly, opening the rear passenger side door as if picking a Lieutenant General up from an unknown off-base residence is part of her normal routine. "The schedule is on the back seat."

"Thanks, Major," he says as he climbs in. Ramirez shuts the door and walks briskly around to the driver's seat, glancing into the rearview mirror as she settles in.

"General?"

"Yeah," he says, rifling through his papers, trying to find whatever it is Carter wants him to have read up on by now.

"Shall I wait for the Colonel?"

"No, she's not ready… " he says absent-mindedly, then stops and looks quickly up into the mirror, "I mean, she's not…"

"Yes, Sir." Ramirez nods, switching her dark, unwavering gaze to the side mirror. Without a glance at the house, she puts the car in drive and eases away from the curb.

_Blackmail_, Jack thinks. _That's her secret_. But the Major keeps her eyes on the road and her thoughts to herself.

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O'Neill dislikes speeches and this week he's going to be both on the giving and the receiving end far too often. While HWC and the IOA have been working on the Icarus base for quite some time, the Wraith attack on _terra firma_ has moved everything into high gear and doubled his workload, simultaneously requiring that he waste time explaining why it isn't done ahead of time and under budget. Sighing deeply, he resigns himself to his administrative fate- but while turning on his laptop in preparation for the next speech a familiar voice caresses his ear.

"Hello, General," Carter says, smiling as if she hasn't seen him in weeks instead of minutes.

Damned if she isn't the poster child for the USAF. He's seen her in that uniform a hundred times, but every time he does he feels an odd sort of pride that she's his- his woman and his officer. And he doesn't have to feel the slightest bit guilty thinking of her like that anymore. "Thank you, Carter," he grins.

"Any questions about the figures, Sir?" She nods toward the laptop.

"I've got it covered," he says, arching his eyebrows. "Do you?"

He loves to see Carter blush. It 's getting harder to make her do it as the years pass but he's happy to see he hasn't completely lost his touch.

"I wouldn't want to disappoint you, Sir," she says very carefully, leaving her comment wide open for interpretation. His gaze flickers across her beautiful face, eyes the color of the blouse she's wearing, wide and innocent and he knows he's being played. He gives her a slow, wicked smile. _Oh, the things I'm going to do when I get you home, Colonel._

Her steady gaze lets him know she's up for the challenge. They've always been so much better at communicating without words than with them- and while they're busy communicating, O'Neill loses track of an indeterminate amount of time until he hears a polite cough from behind him.

"Daniel!" He turns to face his former team member, close friend and general pain in the ass. None of which he'd trade for all the trinium on P3X812. Carter simply stands there, grinning as if she's known perfectly well that the good doctor would attend the presentation that day.

"I'll be here a while, so… tonight?" Daniel looks toward Carter for permission.

O'Neill answers him. "Yeah. Great!"

Daniel makes his way to the back of the room and sits down next to the Canadian Defense Minister. "What's that all about?" he says, nodding in the direction of Carter and O'Neill.

"What's it look like?" Daniel answers.

"Damn," the Minister says. "Lucky bastard."

"Oh, I don't know. She's level 3 in hand-to-hand." Daniel says distractedly, leafing through the program notes.

The other man crosses his arms and studies Carter. "Like I said…"

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The briefing is mercifully short, since only the people who truly care are there for the summary of the whole sorry three-way mess that comprises Icarus, Atlantis and what's left of Area 51. The ones who are just looking for a photo op are already up at Icarus and O'Neill knows there's no way to completely avoid that dog-and-pony-show but right now there's real work to be done trying to mitigate their losses and distribute the remaining assets. He loses Carter in the crowd that is filtering out the door but thinks he'll catch up with her at lunch since the two of them, Landry, and Woolsey still have to figure out what the hell they are going to do with Atlantis since its gate is overriding everything, and what the residual threat of another Wraith attack might be. And he's going to be late, but the only advantage of being in charge is that they really can't start without him. When he arrives in the briefing room, however, she is nowhere to be found, the chair next to his usual spot pushed in next to the table. He pulls his chair out and sits down across from Landry, who is wearing a guarded look, and suddenly Jack feels as if there is some bit of bad news that he isn't in on, yet. Carter's never late.

"Are we still at DEFCON 2?" he asks the general casually, picking up the crystal glass of water in front of him.

"Yes, we are, Jack." Landry nods. "Which is why Caldwell called up Carter as soon as he got word that the _Hammond_ was ready to go."

"That's great." He swallows the water and he swears to God it makes his ears start ringing. There can't be another reason for it. "Did she leave her recommendations?"

"Right here. She's nothing if not prepared." Landry eyes a stack of collated papers as an aide picks them up and passes them around. O'Neill nods, accepts his copy and buries himself in the task at hand. Woolsey shifts uncomfortably in his chair, watches O'Neill, and then looks over at Landry as if uncertain what he should do. Landry nods slightly, and the commander of Atlantis begins to explain the current situation on his base.

The meeting takes up the rest of the afternoon, and through it all, through the talk of power structure, and defenses, deployments and supplies, O'Neill remains acutely aware of the still, silent phone tucked away inside the interior of his jacket. When the meeting finally draws to a close, he steps out into the hallway and takes a deep breath. He will not call her. He isn't going to run the risk of being a Pete, to have her look at caller ID and put the phone down with a sigh. God, he should be used to this by now. But the last nine months have been so terrific and he's waited so long for it that his highly developed capacity for denial has been on autopilot and he hasn't even known it.

Landry appears at his elbow. "Say, Carolyn and I are going to go to O'Malley's one last time if you're interested," he suggests casually.

"Nah. Daniel's in town. And I'm not sure they've ever really gotten over the armbands thing."

"All right." Landry pauses. There's no need for false reassurances. He'd never insult O'Neill's intelligence with a "don't worry, she'll be fine." Instead, he zips up his leather coat and says, "She's the best we've got, Jack," then walks slowly down the deserted hallway.

Yeah, O'Neill thinks. And that's exactly what's going to get her killed.

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TBC


	2. Misfolded

It's quite a coincidence that our USAF Chief of Staff really could be a close friend of Jack's- his biography and dates of service match up with Jack's history, and I needed someone to be Jack's boss, so I couldn't resist putting in a similar character. Or maybe we're living in an AU where Jack's the Chief of Staff under a different name! There is a fair amount in this chapter that refers back to _As the World Doesn't Turn_.

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_Landry pauses. There's no need for false reassurances. He'd never insult Jack's intelligence with a "don't worry, she'll be fine." Instead, he zips up his leather coat and says, "She's the best we've got, Jack," then walks slowly down the deserted hallway._

_Yeah, O'Neill thinks. And that's exactly what's going to get her killed._

_-------------------------------_

Ramirez drops O'Neill off at the house in the evening, and he finds himself grateful for her usual silence. As she opens the door and he steps out on to the sidewalk, she inquires whether he wants to keep the car for the evening.

"No- but thanks anyway, Major."

"Yes, sir," she replies, shutting the car door behind him, but she doesn't turn away as he walks up the short path to the front porch. "I'm sorry, General," she says. He turns and looks back at her in slight surprise for a moment, then nods and climbs the few steps to the door. Ramirez walks around to the driver's side door, gets in and drives off to spend the evening doing whatever it is she does in her off hours, sure to be back at 07:30 on the dot.

Jack expects to have to use his key to get in but to his surprise the knob turns easily and he steps into the bungalow, setting his briefcase and hat down on the foyer table. "Daniel?" he queries into the quiet house.

"He's gone," Sam says, appearing from the back hallway. "He pretended he had something to do for a while."

Jack stands staring at her, thrilled by and yet somehow dreading the fact that she hasn't left yet. It's a few seconds before he can trust himself to speak. "Ah. Smart man, that Daniel." He pauses. "So. Going to Area 51 to pick it up?" he asks, as if she's going down to the dealership to get a new car instead off to the moon for a multi-billion-dollar piece of technology that will take her across the galaxy. He steps into the dimly lit room, working his tie and shirt collar loose from his neck, suddenly finding it a little harder to catch his breath. He can see she's been crying, her face pale in the darkness and it lacerates his heart, just like it always has. She nods. "There's not much time for the crew to..." she falters, her eyes dropping to the picture she's holding.

"Say their goodbyes," he finishes for her, finally close enough to touch her face. He brushes the tears from one side of her face and kisses them from the other side, and then takes the photo from her hands. "God, I wish you didn't need this," he says bitterly, setting it down on the end table before wrapping his arms around her and burying his face in the curve of her neck. They stand melded to one another without speaking because there isn't anything that hasn't been said already, many times over. There just aren't that many variations on "Good-bye."

Finally, wearily, Jack releases her with a deep sigh and walks into the kitchen. He pulls a beer out of the ice where Sam has put them in anticipation of Daniel's visit, marveling that she can pay attention to such a detail at a time like this. She watches him in silence as he dries it off with a dishtowel and then opens the glass doors to let the soft breeze of the early Colorado evening sift into the room. The lights of Colorado Springs are starting to blink on one by one as the pink rays of the sun seeps out across the sky. "I like it better here," he says, flicking the bottle cap down into the bushes below the deck. "Be nice to stay."

"That hive ship really eliminated all of our options, didn't it?" Sam says quietly from the doorway.

"I'm not talking about diverting gate traffic to Icarus." He hears her stepping onto the deck behind him and thinks back to that moment on P3X-124 when she'd first made it clear that she still loved him. Jack remembers standing by the fireplace of the tiny cottage thinking that it couldn't be that easy- and of course, it hasn't been. Since then they'd survived the Ori, Atlantis, and another attack on earth. Yet Carter reassures him that the events are unrelated. The odds aren't cumulative, she'd say. No one is keeping score, standing by to tell them that they've used up all their chances.

"When this is all over, maybe you can finally retire." She slips her arms around him and he feels her face pressed against his shoulder.

He shakes his head. "As long as you're playing in this ball game, I'll be pitching in it." Jack sets the bottle down on the railing of the small wooden deck and rubs his temples. Normally alcohol doesn't give him a headache, but this day is turning out to be anything but normal. He guesses that, in fact, he has a lot of reasons to be having a headache. "I have to warn you. I'm playing tour guide up there next week."

He feels her nod and imagines he can even feel her smile. "I know. My first assignment is to ferry a bunch of VIPs there. But I'm sure I can make myself scarce."

"I'm sure you can," he agrees, a hint of sarcasm creeping into his words.

"I have to go," she says quietly. None of this is her fault, he knows. Nothing is her fault except what he feels for her- something deep and even frightening, something so far past love that he never even tries to use the word.

"Yeah, I know you have to go. You want to go. Hell, a part of _me_ even wants you to go." He turns around and holds her back to look at her, her hair glowing ethereally, the lights of the sunset reflected in every strand and in the tear-filled shine of her eyes. "But I'm only a man, Carter."

She sighs, biting her lip to keep away the trembling that he knows is there. "I guess I'm just tired," he admits, pulling her close. Which is pretty much the understatement of the century.

"We never had time to go to Tahiti," she says wistfully as she lays her head against him again, her fingers tracing across the rows of medals on his chest.

"Well, we sure can't go now."

"There must be a base chaplain on Icarus," she suggests softly.

Jack closes his eyes. He can't imagine putting a ring on her finger only to have her ship out the next day. And somewhere in the darkest recesses of his mind there lurks a persistent thought that he'd never consciously acknowledge- that he might survive handing off the folded flag, but receiving it would be the end of him. "Sam," he whispers hoarsely, "leave me something, okay?" Because all he wants now is some tiny part of him that she can't reach, some solid ground to stand on when she's gone. He holds her tightly, his face against hers, one hand threading through her hair while the other wraps around her body as if he can somehow imprint her onto his own. They can't keep doing this and stay sane, Jack thinks. Something is going to break- he can feel it- but he just didn't know what or who it is. Finally, the ringing of the doorbell prods them into movement and he loosens his grip on her, slipping his hand to her chin and tilting her head until his lips find hers. Her palms press flat against his back and it feels as if she's hanging on by a kiss that's so soft and slow and desperate that it makes him want to cry.

The doorbell rings again and without a word he finally turns to go let Daniel in. Sam looks out over the quiet city, gripping the railing with both hands and trying to regain her composure. Noticing his half-empty bottle, she picks it up and examines it as if she hopes it holds something a lot stronger than beer.

Jack walks into the living room just as Daniel tentatively opens the door. "Hello?"

"Yeah," Jack replies. He knows he should try to be a decent host, but he really feels like crap. Of course, he'd feel a hell of a lot better just getting out of his service dress, and he starts to unbutton his jacket.

Daniel steps in and closes the door. "So… everything okay?" He's got a bag that Jack identifies as coming from the local ice cream parlor, but strangely Jack doesn't really care.

"No, Daniel, everything kinda sucks right now." Including the damn buttons, Jack thinks. They just won't cooperate with his fingers.

Daniel nods and looks at his friend with concern. "Anything I can do?"

Jack doesn't answer, wanting nothing more than to get the coat off. It's suddenly hot, steaming hot and the buttons are getting smaller and harder to find. He looks down and finds that he can't see them at all.

"Jack?"

He thinks he hears Daniel say Sam's name, which strikes him as kind of odd, but the word echoes off into in the dark and the last thing he feels is the pull of hands and the cool, smooth wood of the floor.

------------------------------------------------------------

When O'Neill comes to the first thing he thinks is that Carter looks far too tired and pale in the flickering light from a computer screen. She looks like she could use some leave, but there isn't a chance in hell of that for the foreseeable future. "Whatcha doin'?" he asks, watching as her head jerks up and a little energy flows back into her eyes.

"What am _I_ doing?" she returns, incredulously. "You're the one who passed out, sir." She sounds both indignant and relieved as she reaches over and squeezes his arm as if to convince herself he's really there.

He struggles to prop himself up, glances around the glass-enclosed ICU compartment and then looks back at her. "At the risk of sounding a bit clichéd, Carter… where am I?"

"At Walter Reed." Daniel offers from the corner of the room where he sits with a newspaper in his lap.

"_What?"_ O'Neill turns his head to stare accusingly at his friend, and gets a bit dizzy in the process.

"It's the Space Medicine Division."

"Maybe I have something _normal_, like a heart attack."

"Riiiight." Daniel counters.

O'Neill has to admit he has a point. "Well, what's wrong with the infirmary?"

"The staff have gone to Area 51 and Icarus."

Carter sighs pointedly from her position in a chair at the head of O'Neill's bed. The two men glance sheepishly at her and O'Neill lies back down again, the vestiges of his prior headache threatening to return in full force. "How'd I get here?" he asks, suddenly concerned by how long he must have been out.

She winces a little and apologetically replies, "I panicked."

"Carter…?" he asks, waiting for her to finish the story and suspecting he won't like the ending. She smiles guiltily back at him.

"We asked the Odyssey to use the Asgard transporter." Daniel volunteers. O'Neill gives Carter a fond, tolerant smile and she visibly relaxes a little. For as long as he's known her, she's been overly concerned with every little alien injury he's had. "I guess I just ought to be glad you didn't call the President's personal doc."

"Uh, actually, Jack…" Daniel starts, and is cut off by a swift glare from Carter. A white-coated Army physician enters at that precise moment, sparing Carter and Daniel from a lecture about the proper use of military resources.

"I can see the vasopressors have kicked in," the tall, dark-haired doctor says with satisfaction, turning on the lights over the head of O'Neill's bed.

"If you say so." O'Neill replies with a shrug.

The doctor offers a handshake. "I'm Lt. Colonel Taylor. Your blood pressure was critically low, General, and we're not sure why. Can you tell me how you've been feeling?"

O'Neill shrugs again. "Par for the course, I guess."

"He was tired and I think he had a headache," Carter offers.

"Difficulty breathing," Daniel adds.

"Scientists." O'Neill mutters beneath his breath. The three of them could probably have a good old time comparing their notes on him for the rest of the night. Maybe he could just kick in a six-pack and sneak quietly out the back door.

The doctor nods. "Well, that all fits with what we found on the MRI. There's damage to the brainstem, in a very small specific area that controls heart rate and a few other things. That's all we've found on dozens of tests so far."

"That doesn't sound too bad." Carter says hopefully.

The doctor smiles wryly. "It's a little like knocking out command and control." She pauses and lets her words sink into the suddenly subdued group. "We've got a few tests pending that might help us out a little. And I need to test Colonel Carter."

"Carter?"

"Me?"

"Sam?"

Dr. Taylor is taken aback as she looks around the room, trying to figure out the relationships here. This is no ordinary working collaboration. "She might have been exposed."

"What is that supposed to mean- _exposed_?" O'Neill is on the verge of panic thinking about the things that have infected, invaded, snuck in with or stalked them after their various missions. He tries to remember how Carter has been over the last day and wonders if he's overlooked anything but he's pretty damned sure he hasn't. He looks worriedly at her and she shrugs, apparently unconcerned.

"Environmental exposure, sir. If it's related to off-world travel, well, she was with you most of the time- especially on that one long mission," the doctor explains. O'Neill relaxes slightly and nods, and she continues. "Do you have any questions so far?"

"When can I get out?"

"Don't you want to know what's wrong?" Carter asks. Meaning that _she_ definitely wants to know what's wrong and it's _his_ job to make sure she finds out. As soon as possible.

"Do I have to answer that?" O'Neill says to anyone who isn't Carter.

"I wouldn't if I were you." Daniel advises.

Dr. Taylor checks her watch. "It's 2200 now… Maybe noon tomorrow if your blood pressure is stable."

"No. I have to be on Icarus by then."

"Sorry, sir." The doctor shakes her head firmly. "I can't let you."

Carter looks at him thoughtfully, then softly says, "The commissioning ceremony is just a formality, sir."

"No, it isn't," he says, sitting up a little more. "Someone has to remind them this is not a toy. Do you know how many people have died because of the stargate?"

Carter most certainly knows how many people have been lost in the line of duty at Stargate Command, and so his question can only be interpreted one way. She removes her hand from his arm and laces her fingers tightly together, not saying a thing in response. O'Neill looks over at her and runs his hand through his hair in frustration. "Sam…"

"It's okay. I know what you're trying to say." She probably does, he thinks, but it still doesn't excuse his being an ass.

"These drugs you're on- they're like extra strength coffee. You might feel quite irritable," the doctor offers. O'Neill nods but it _still_ doesn't excuse his being an ass. After a moment, the doctor takes her leave.

The trio sits in silence for several minutes and then O'Neill says quietly, "They're forgetting."

"What?" Daniel asks. "Who?"

"Everything that's happened, Daniel. We've got Asgard transporters, for cryin' out loud! Trinium, hyperdrives and intergalactic treaties."

"That's all good, sir." Carter says, trying to calm him down.

"It comes at a price. They have _no_ clue. And they're not ready." O'Neill flops back on his pillow with a sigh. "There are VIP quarters with wet bars on Icarus."

Carter nods as she begins to understand what he's getting at. "You used to tell Hammond: 'This should not get old, General.'"

O'Neill turns to her, his eyes dark and serious. "Well, it did."

-------------------------------------------------------------

The next day O'Neill is ready to go when he happens to catch sight of a large Town Car pulling up alongside the hospital. Straightening his tie, he watches curiously from the window of his hospital room as an officer about his age emerges from the back seat of the limousine and disappears into the building. "Sam," he says, "don't tell me you sicced Schmidt on me, too."

"I didn't." She sweeps the last of the donut crumbs into the box. He had told her that he didn't _care_ if it was Walter-big-fucking-deal-Reed, he wasn't eating the food.

"I don't think he's here to make balloon poodles for the pediatric ward."

"Your health is a matter of national security, sir. I'm not surprised." She walks to the trash can and dumps in the box just as Major Ramirez arrives with a wheelchair.

"But _Schmidt_?" O'Neill turns from the window and his expression becomes one of annoyance when he sees the chair.

Carter smiles. "He knows you almost as well as the rest of us do. You're out numbered."

Turning toward his assistant for help, O'Neill is almost positive he sees a smile forming at the edge of Ramirez's mouth as she unfolds the footrests on the wheelchair, and he gives up on getting any back-up from _her_.

"Now sit," Carter orders, then glancing briefly at the major, "Sir."

"No way."

"In the chair, General," a voice orders sternly from the doorway. "That's an order."

Carter smirks and O'Neill turns to the doorway with a knowing grin. There stands his CO, fellow Academy classmate and Special Forces comrade, General Robert Schmidt, Air Force Chief of Staff. None of which slows O'Neill down one bit. "With all due respect, General, I can walk."

"Cut the formality, O'Neill, and do what the Colonel says." Schmidt's fond tone belies his stern words and O'Neill thinks the man is enjoying himself far too much.

"Thank you, Sir." Carter says. O'Neill gives all of them his best scowl and resigns himself to following doctor's- and apparently everyone else's- orders.

They meet up with Dr. Taylor and Daniel in a small conference room, the viewing boxes on the wall covered in radiologic images that O'Neill assumes are his. After introductions are made, Dr. Taylor gets right down to the business at hand. "It's a prion," she says. "It's very unique- we're sure you picked it up on another planet. But it's still similar to what we call a 'slow virus'."

"Damn slow, I'd say." O'Neill shakes his head. "I haven't been off-world in years."

"You go to Icarus all the time." Daniel points out.

"That doesn't count." O'Neill insists.

Dr. Taylor nods in agreement with O'Neill and he flashes Daniel a smug grin. "It appears," the doctor continues, "to have a single mutation that makes it, uh, slower than the other slow viruses."

"Great. Even my viruses are stupid." O'Neill taps his fingers on the desk for a moment. "Do you know for sure?"

"To know for sure, we'd need to do a brain biopsy. Typically, those are done post-mortem."

"Not much of an option, then." General Schmidt points out the obvious.

"That's where we got lucky," Dr. Taylor says.

O'Neill raises his eyebrows at her words. "Lucky," he says dryly. He's got a lot of choice phrases to describe this situation, but "lucky" is not one of them.

"NIH's Rocky Mountain Labs out in Montana just last month developed an ultrasensitive assay for transmissible spongiform encephalopathies in preferred embodiments using an amplified protein chain reaction."

"Dr. Taylor, " O'Neill states without expression, "I'm afraid you're cloaked in an impenetrable shield of terminology."

"There's an easy blood test, sir." Taylor explains with a sheepish smile. "You have a prion disease and prions are not spread person-to-person."

O'Neill resists the urge to look over at Carter in relief.

"As you said yourself, you haven't been off-world for any length of time lately, so we narrowed it down to P3X-124. From your records- which are quite fascinating by the way- we knew you'd been attacked by a feline predator there and that an autopsy had been done on that animal by the Home World Security exobiology department."

"But that department was destroyed a week ago." Carter points out solemnly.

The doctor nods sadly, "Yes, it was. But archived samples are always stored in the basement. One of the hazmat teams recovered the specimens and they were flown here this morning. The virus you have, General, was detected in those tissue samples."

"And Carter?" His eyes fix on her face as he waits for the doctor's reply. "She was around that thing- and its blood." _My blood, too_, he thinks._ She saved my life, and if that comes back to haunt her..._

"Her tests are negative."

"Good," he says, but that's really not good enough for him. Nothing is, when it comes to Carter. "But you sure as hell didn't biopsy _her_ brain."

"I'm fine, Sir." Carter states firmly.

"Yeah. Like I haven't heard _that_ before."

The doctor looks back and forth at Carter and O'Neill. "Well," she begins tentatively, "her exposure was less… and age _is_ a factor."

O'Neill finally looks away from Carter and smiles wryly. "So what now, doc?"

"There's no treatment for prion disease, and it's fatal."

He hears Carter take in a small gasp, and after he recovers from the news that the universe has found yet another way to fuck him over, he realizes he's a whole lot more worried about Carter than he is about himself.

TBC.....


	3. General Relativity

NASA really does have an exobiology department. Makes you wonder, doesn't it?

I have changed the rating on the story to M due to this chapter, although that might be a bit conservative. The pertinent scene is located between the first and second story breaks and if you skip it you'll still be able to follow the story.

Thanks for the reviews and please let me know what you think of this chapter!

* * *

_O'Neill finally looks away from Carter and smiles wryly. "So what now, doc?"_

"_There's no treatment for prion disease, and it's fatal."_

_He hears Carter take in a small gasp, and after he recovers from the news that the universe has found yet another way to fuck him over, he realizes he's a whole lot more worried about Carter than he is about himself._

_--------------------------------_

O'Neill has to hand it to the doc- she doesn't beat around the bush. As if trying to temper the finality of her statement, she adds, "This strain is different, though- weaker- if we had a little more time we might find something."

"But there's not enough time." O'Neill states, saving her from having to deal the final blow.

"I don't think so, sir."

"Then we'll find some." Carter interjects firmly before O'Neill can say or even think anything else, her eyes a steely, determined grey. He wonders what she could possibly have to do with viruses that were not of the computer variety, and then decides that's a foolish concern. She is, after all Samantha Carter. Suddenly his day isn't quite so crappy after all.

"Well, we _are_ creating a dedicated research team." Dr. Taylor nods thoughtfully. "Prions are highly unusual microbes- they don't even have DNA. Our exobiologists now think that _all_ prions have an extraterrestrial origin and are widespread throughout the galaxy, making a cure critical. But even with that, it could take a year or longer."

"A year is not a problem." Carter says, looking at O'Neill with a brief flicker of sadness that he doesn't quite understand. "General O'Neill will have all the time in the world."

"Do you have one of those…" General Schmidt searches for the right word, "… time delays?"

"Dilation devices," O'Neill corrects his superior with an air of superiority. Schmidt glances at O'Neill with the tiniest hint of annoyance and O'Neill suddenly feels a liitle better about the whole wheelchair thing.

"No, but you're on the right track, sir." Carter nods approvingly at the General, and gives the Lt. General a look that tells him he'd better straighten up, literally and figuratively. He knows she understands that his joking around is a defense mechanism, but there's only so much Carter is willing to take when it comes to her projects- especially if the project is him.

"There are two things that we know can slow down time- speed and gravity." Carter busies herself writing a few equations on the whiteboard and O'Neill smiles as she switches into full genius mode. It'd almost be fun watching her do her scientist thing if he wasn't facing imminent death. "We experienced the effect firsthand when a black hole connected to the stargate." Watching O'Neill's expression as he recalls that incident, she quickly adds, "But it doesn't have to be a black hole. Any sufficiently massive object will do."

"Wouldn't one get a little- squished?" Daniel asks with a slight grimace.

"One does _not_ wish to be squished." O'Neill agrees.

"If we put you in orbit sir, you'll be accelerating." She hastily scribbles out another equation. "It's the same as gravity but you won't feel it because of the inertial dampeners. See?"

"No." O'Neill shrugs. But it doesn't matter. He's sure she's right.

Dr. Taylor snaps her fingers in sudden recognition of the formula. "It's the general theory of relativity!"

"Actually," Carter says, fixing her gaze on O'Neill with a smile, "it's the theory of General relativity."

"Nice one," O'Neill replies. Ramirez just smiles at the paper on which she is scribbling away.

Carter turns back to the board, losing herself in thought while everyone else in the room waits. Finally, O'Neill's impatience gets the better of him. "So what kind of time are we talking about here, Carter?"

She doesn't take her gaze from the safety of her equations. "Two days for you…"

"No problem." he says. "Let me grab a 302 and go."

"…and two years for us."

There's another stretch of silence, finally broken by O'Neill. "I can't do that," he states flatly. Avoiding Carter's eyes, he turns to the doctor, "How long?"

"If there's no breakthrough, perhaps two months."

"What'll it be like?"

"You'll probably be fine right up until the moment your heart stops," she says in her usual blunt fashion.

O'Neill finally forces himself to look up at Carter, the dismay and fear on her face plainly evident to everyone in the small room. He knows she knows that he's not prone to drama or making rash decisions and there's so much he needs to explain to her- but not here and not now. She's looking at him with the same expression as she had when she talked him into taking that snake-head- only worse. Much worse. Taking a deep breath, he desperately hopes that she'll forgive him for what he's about to do and how he's about to do it.

"Two months ought to be long enough for us to accomplish a few things around here." He gets to his feet as if he's decided the conversation is over. "Ramirez," he says to his assistant, which is entirely unnecessary as she is already rising out of her chair.

"Sir-" Carter begins, but she's stopped by a single look from O'Neill. _Not here and not now._

"There's a war on, Carter," he says quietly, "Don't waste your time on this." Then he leaves the room, dead silence in his wake.

Finally, General Schmidt speaks. "You heard the man. We've all got jobs to do."

"He can't do this." Carter says, more to herself than to anyone in the room.

"General, you're his CO. Can't you make it an order or something?" Daniel asks incredulously.

General Schmidt shakes his head. "He has a point. General O'Neill is probably the single most important person involved in the defense of Earth. We're at a critical juncture and he's a valuable asset."

"And you need to use up that valuable asset while you can, don't you?" Daniel says caustically.

"Daniel," Carter says in a gentle but reproachful voice, her eyes still filled with fear.

The general is nonplussed. "I'm not in the habit of forcing people to accept medical care they don't want, even if it comes in the form of sitting around on a ship for a couple of days." He stands up and looks directly at Carter. "And I don't second-guess a Lieutenant General."

"Yes, sir," she holds his gaze, her face betraying nothing.

"On the other hand," the superior officer says, his eyes still trained on hers, "I wouldn't object if someone tried to reach him on a different level. If we knew of someone who could."

---------------------------------

O'Neill hears the knock at the door and wishes he hadn't been in the habit of dismissing Ramirez early. Especially not today. But she'd left to go to his house with a short list of what he needs for a long trip to Icarus Base. Thanks to his little detour to the hospital, he's way behind and doesn't have time to go himself- or at least that's the excuse he gave to Ramirez when he said he had to stay at Home World Command. Not that she believed it.

He walks slowly over to the door and opens it. "Carter." Well, it's not like he'd have _her_ turned away, anyway.

"May I have a word, sir?" she asks, her voice as steady as if she only wants to ask him what time it is.

"I don't suppose I could actually say "no", could I?" he smiles.

She shakes her head and he steps back, closing the door behind her after she enters. "I'd offer you a drink but, well- you know the rules." He shrugs and smiles again, but she's not buying into any of his lighthearted repartee. Her gaze drifts over to the duffle bag that lies across a side chair and then back up to his face without a word.

"We've got work to do," he says in answer to her unasked question.

"Yes. We do," she finally replies. "But I don't understand." Her eyes are pleading with him to explain, but he isn't any good at explanations, and it's all so complicated that it's easier just not to say anything at all.

"It's my prerogative, Colonel."

But she isn't buying that, either. "This isn't just a military decision."

"Yes, it is," he says, trying to sound certain though he isn't. "If you hadn't been on SG-1 and gone on that trip to PX 124, you wouldn't know what's going on."

"If I hadn't been on SG-1 and gone on that trip to PX 124, we wouldn't be lovers."

She's right, but it only increases his confusion. "That's not who we are right now," he says. He's always tried to separate out the personal from the professional, but he knew the day would come when he would fail. Again.

"When will we be, Jack? When will you let me have an opinion? You're hiding in this office…" she says, sweeping her hand across the room, "… in that _uniform_," and she pushes her hand against his chest hard enough for him to feel it, "Pretty soon you'll be hiding on Icarus."

Twice before she'd tried to get in his face, to break through the protective barrier that his rank provides him; and twice before he'd held his ground. This time he figures he has nothing to lose and in one quick movement he has her by the wrist, pulling her toward him, the rush of anger making him feel stronger and less like a tired warhorse that's been through one battle too many. "You just assaulted a superior officer," he growls through clenched teeth. His heart pounds and he isn't sure if it is the virus or some other fever he has, but suddenly he's on fire.

"It's not like I haven't before," her eyes spark electric blue and O'Neill feels as if they've burned off all the oxygen in the room, leaving nothing for him to breathe. "You wanted me to touch you then." As soon as the words are out of her mouth they both realize she should never have reminded him of that because those thoughts of skin and heat and painfully exquisite bliss don't belong in this room.

His free arm swings around her narrow waist, pulling her over the line they were never supposed to cross. It was an unspoken vow they'd taken- to never touch each other at work, to never let on what they feel because God knows they'd already suffered plenty because of it. And decisions must be made, just like the one he made today. But right now, he has her soft warm body against him, her sweet scent, hot breaths against his neck, his hand gripping the feminine curve of her hip- and mixed with the emotional turmoil of the past twenty-four hours it's an explosive combination. Then he remembers what she's wearing under her uniform, which means his hand is only separated from that black thong by a couple of millimeters of fabric. And that thought provides the spark that sets him off. "Tell you what, Carter," he says, his voice vibrating low in her ear, "since we can't keep our personal feelings out of this, why don't we just forget protocol and have at it right here on top of my desk?"

"And admit the General is a human being?" she fires back.

"Yes." With his weight and her high heels, she doesn't stand a chance and he pushes her backwards until she's up against the desk. He kisses her hard, tongue prying her full lips apart before she even knows what hit her, and he doesn't stop until she lets him have his way with her mouth. As good as that feels it's nowhere near enough for Jack.

Having pinned her between his unyielding body and the furniture he slips his hand from around her waist down to the hem of her skirt and yanks it up, sliding his hand along a sensuously silk-encased thigh up to grip her bare hip. "You wanted to break me…" His fingers push beneath the lacy straps that secure her stockings, finding her skin warm and incredibly smooth as he splays his fingers across her ass. "..well, I'm broken."

"That's not what I want!" she says in disbelief as his mouth connects with her throat, "It's just- you don't know what you're doing."

"It appears that I'm doing you." A wave of arousal washes over him from the pressure as his hips shove her partly up onto the desk, her thighs around his. "Everything I do is for you, Carter. To keep you safe- as safe as you'll let me." He looses her wrist and wraps his arm around her back, his muscles flexing under the taut fabric across his shoulders, pressing her into him, straining to feel her through layers of regulation clothing, kissing her mouth, her face, her hair, trying to deny the enormous sense of impending loss that threatens to swallow him whole.

She holds him in a tight embrace, one hand cradling his head like she's holding a distraught child instead of a man bent on driving them both insane. "Don't you think I might need you even more later?" she asks breathlessly.

He doesn't have an answer to that. He only knows that he needs her now.

Her fragrant body heat rises against his neck and jaw and he lowers his head to bury his face against her breasts, kneading her soft flesh through the service dress, biting through the pale blue fabric of her blouse, barriers driving him crazy. He snakes his tongue between the buttons to lick her skin and that limited taste makes him want to scream, but only a low groan escapes as he rotates his hand inward on her hip, his thumb pushing aside the soft fabric along the hot, tender skin where her leg meets her hip.

"Maybe," she whispers over the muffled rattle of his belt buckle, barely able to make one word follow another, "you just want to be the one to die _first_."

He stops abruptly as her accusation cuts through the haze of his desire, and his hold on her suddenly becomes loose. She takes advantage of his momentary shock, slipping out between Jack and the desk and stands apart from him, breaths rushed and ragged; desire, heartbreak and fear all playing out across her features, flushed pink from emotion and the scrape of his face. She steps back again, calmer now, buttoning her jacket and then her hand finds the doorknob. But she doesn't leave. "May I speak freely, sir?"

Coming to his senses, he detects a hint of sarcasm in her voice but figures he deserves it. "You haven't been?" His breathing slows down but he can feel still feel the pulse in his neck against his collar.

"I don't think your only value lies in your willingness to sacrifice yourself. You're worth more than that."

"Is that the Colonel or Sam doing the talking?"

"Both." She opens the door, waiting.

"Dismissed," he says with a wry shake of his head.

"I'll see you this evening, sir." Then she walks out and slams the door behind her, and he hears a glassy crash on the other side of the wall. Opening the door, he finds his picture has accidentally fallen from its position next to George Hammond's and lays on the floor, the glass cracked, Carter nowhere to be seen. He picks up the photo with a sigh and walks over to Major Ramirez's desk, setting it facedown on the blotter. She'll get it fixed without a question. But knowing Ramirez, she'd have it all figured out without having to ask.

--------------------------------------------

The rest of the day is a blur, taken up with an assortment of meetings and conference calls, but by that afternoon Jack finds himself aboard the _George_ _Hammond_ for the short trip to Icarus base with the project's lead scientist and some kid they picked up to help hack into the circuits on the _really_ ancient Ancient gate they'd found there. Just as she'd predicted back in Colorado Springs, Carter doesn't spend much time with them beside what protocol requires, and after a standard meet and greet she excuses herself, with Dr. Rush and the kid watching her a little too appreciatively as she departs.

"Wow. If I'd known I could work with someone like that I wouldn't have blown off my ASVAB testing," the young man says.

"She's out of your league, Eli," Dr. Rush comments, his eyes still trained on Carter.

"And yours," O'Neill points out the obvious. Rush shrugs in agreement and takes the kid over to the window while O'Neill stands back on the bridge, watching them with amusement as the kid's eyes widen at the sight of earth filling the screen in front of them. He reflects back on the past fifteen years, remembering his own reaction at his first sight of the stargate, but damn, this kid has no idea what he's in for. None of them really do.

As if reading his mind, a voice right behind him echoes his concerns. "What was the IOA thinking, sending civilians out on a shakedown cruise?"

"Don't know, Carter," he replies without turning around as he watches the earth slide away into the vast blackness of space, reveling in the familiar feeling of starting out on a mission with Carter beside him. God, how he's missed this. "I told them it was a bad idea, but they just want to pretend that everything's under control."

"It's not," she says quietly. "It's never been." And then she's gone again, before he can ask her if she's referring to the stargate program or to something else they share.

He doesn't see her again and that very evening she beams them all to the transportation platform on Icarus Base. His first stop is the infirmary where Ramirez occupies his time with a review of the next day's events while the medics check all of his vital signs, including some he didn't know he had. Having been cleared, at least for the moment, she deposits him in guest quarters where he's barely able to get his shoes and jacket off and crawl onto the bed before collapsing. Had it really been less than two days since he'd been in Sam's bed in Colorado Springs? He feels as tired as if he'd spent that entire time in basic training. He takes his pulse like he's supposed to, pops his pills and writes down everything. Then he turns out the light, too beat to finish undressing. Sleep doesn't come quickly though as her words echo in his brain- _Maybe you just want to be the one to die first._

He doesn't know how much time has passed when he hears the door open and close gently out in the sitting room, as Ramirez leaves whatever extra reading material he needs to catch up on out on the table. The door to the bedroom is half-open, and through closed eyelids he thinks he perceives a shift in the light, and his eyes fly open wide.

"It's okay, Jack, it's me." Sam says from the doorway, keeping her distance until he is fully awake. He can't really see her as she moves away from the door and the faint light coming through it, but he hears her approach, can smell her shampoo or soap or whatever it is that makes Carter smell- well, like Carter. The edge of the bed sinks as she sits next to him. "You're in bed kind of early."

"Big day," he says. Her hand finds his arm, tracing down until she can lace her fingers through his. After a moment, her hand shifts and he smiles in the dark as she not-so-sneakily takes his pulse.

"Is it all right, doc?" he asks gently.

"Yeah," she replies.

"How do you like the ship?"

"He's great."

"He?"

"It's the _George Hammond_."

"You're supposed to call it a 'she'."

"Even if it's the _George Hammond_? Isn't that a little sexist?"

"It's etymology, Carter, not some grand conspiracy designed to objectify women."

"Oh." He can hear her thinking. Then he hears the clinking of some glasses and the sound of a something heavy being set on the bedside table. "They gave me a champagne bottle to christen him," she says. Jack smiles. She could be stubborn- or she could just be pulling his chain. "It seemed like such a waste so I thought we might drink some first." He hears the muffled pop of the cork.

"Not into romance, Carter?" he asks. "Lore of the sea, and all that?"

"I _am_ into romance," she confesses, "just not that kind." Then he feels her fingers on his face, cool from holding the bottle, followed by a soft, hesitant kiss that tears his heart wide open. She tastes like champagne and her lips are just as soft and smooth and intoxicating as a swirl of those little tiny bubbles.

"We're on the base," he says in self-defense, "Highly unprofessional, Colonel."

"Professionalism didn't stop you from jumping me in your office," she whispers against his cheek, her fingers stroking the other side of his face, working their way through his hair.

"That was stupid." Incredibly hot, he thinks, but very stupid.

"It was crude," she says simply, "not stupid."

It feels so good, so reassuring he's almost ashamed by how much he needs to feel her touch. He tries one last time. "Sam… I might not be here when you get back."

She sits up to look at him and he's sure he can see the intense glint of her eyes even in the dark. "I'm not afraid to love someone who might die."

"Unlike me," he finishes the sentence for her.

"Yes." There was silence for a moment, and then a soft fizz. "You think too much," she says, wrapping his fingers around the slim stem of the glass, and before he could respond to that highly ironic statement she presses the glass up to his lips. "Here."

He props himself up on one elbow to sip the champagne while she occupies herself with the buttons on the cuffs of his shirt, then the shirt itself. She pushes his shirt off his shoulder and kissing his collarbone, pulls the sleeve over his arm. Her fingers trace lightly over his shoulder and he knows she's feeling the scar that had nearly ended his life before it gave him a new life with her.

"It's killing you again," she says in a broken whisper, completely blowing her cover, her optimistic façade shattered. He feels her hand slip down over his back as she kisses the scar that runs from his shoulder nearly to his jugular vein and then she cries, her face pressed to his throat.

He puts his arms around her shaking, sobbing form and pulls her down next to him, scooting over so she can lie face to face with him, her head on his pillow. He knows she isn't the kind of woman who cries in order to get her way- even though it has that effect on him most of the time- she cries from a broken heart. "Hey.." he says, pressing his forehead to hers, sweeping the damp hair away from her face, "if you keep it up you won't be able to tell me about that vacation you want to send me on."

"What?" she says, her voice still catching.

"Maybe it doesn't have to be all or nothing. I don't know, Sam. But…" his voice trails off. "Two years is a long time for you."

Sam is silent for a moment as she burrows in closer, her head under his chin, her hair soft across his face. "It's exactly one half of four years. But only one-fourth of eight."

"Yeah," he smiles, nuzzling the top of her head. As usual her math is flawless.

"You're not doing this just for _me_, are you?" She toys with the chain from his dog tags absentmindedly.

It's the oddest thing, but he remembers when Charlie was a toddler he used to do that, too. Jack loves the feeling it triggers, a protective, intimate connection that holds them together in the center of the universe if only for a moment. "I already told you, everything I do is for you." He strokes her hair gently, "It's just a matter of perspective."

"Perspective," she says sleepily. He knows she must be utterly exhausted. She probably hasn't slept since he barely let her sleep two nights ago. "I like perspective."

"I know," he whispers. "And…about that base chaplain…"

"Uh uh…" her voice trails off and she sighs. "Has to be Tahiti."

"Oh?" He's confused. She'd been up for it the day before.

"Mess up the puzzle."

_Of course._ She's halfway through making the second crossword puzzle about their lives, and Tahiti is already in it. He smiles and holds her closer still. "Carter?"

"Mmm."

"Can we name our first kid Xerxes?"

But she's already fast asleep.


	4. Maneuvers

Just another fine day at Icarus Base.

(I think there's a lot of swearing in this chapter, but Jack is not a happy camper.)

* * *

"_I know," he whispers. "And…about that base chaplain…"_

"_Uh uh…" her voice trails off and she sighs. "Has to be Tahiti."_

"_Oh?" He's confused. She'd been up for it the day before._

"_Mess up the puzzle."_

_Of course. She's halfway through making the second crossword puzzle about their lives, and Tahiti is already in it. He smiles and holds her closer still. "Carter?"_

"_Mmm."_

"_Can we name our first kid Xerxes?"_

_But she's already fast asleep._

_----------------------------------------------  
_

He lets her sleep in the next day, too, discreetly rearranging her schedule just a little bit, something guaranteed to piss her off but he does it anyway because the next time he sees her he'll be safe in the company of a few other officers. Finished with the despised service dress for a few days, he quietly pulls on the familiar BDUs, his eyes focused on Sam, drinking in the sight of her- long slender form hugged by the thin covers, blonde hair splashed across the pillow, the elegant turn of her bare shoulder, the inviting cleft of her breasts. And all he wants to do is climb back into bed and feel that warm, smooth body around him and under him, hear her voice whispering low in his ear, feel her hands caressing, stroking and teasing and forget about every impending disaster that's waiting for both of them just outside the door.

But. Duty calls. He sighs and pulls on a t-shirt, then takes his boots and slips reluctantly out the bedroom door.

Before he exits the compartment, he forces the cork back into the champagne bottle, wires it shut again and leaves it on the table with a note. _Don't tempt Fate._ Then he leaves to make his own rounds and to see how long he can escape Ramirez and her slave-driving ways.

The base is still disorganized, having been pushed into service well before it was ready, and it bothers him to no end that he's got all kinds of suits poking around and distracting everyone when there's still so much work to be done. Rounding a corner in one of the many concrete subsurface corridors that comprise the base, he encounters a frustrated-looking Colonel Young cornered by a pack of bureaucrats. "Colonel," he says authoritatively, "I've got some questions."

Young looks at him with obvious relief and O'Neill thinks the man must be desperate if he'd rather undergo a grilling by a three-star than continue in his present company. "Yes, Sir," he says, then turns to the group beside him, "Excuse me, folks." Young very nearly sprints down the hall toward his office, "This way, General."

They slip into his office and shut the door, O'Neill motioning the colonel to be seated. "Thanks for the save, sir," the Colonel says, blowing out a deep breath.

"That bad?" O'Neill settles into the chair opposite of the desk.

"Worse than the shields."

"That's bad." O'Neill agrees. "Speaking of which…"

"They're not quite ready, but hopefully we're safe. No one knows we're here."

O'Neill lets out a derisive huff. Icarus is without a doubt the least secret secret base he's ever seen. "As far as I'm concerned, Colonel, the only purpose of camouflage is to hide really big guns."

The Colonel nods.

"If one absent-minded professor decides to take a daytime stroll you could get a bomb right up the old ventilation shaft."

Young laughs, "What, and end all the confusion? No enemy in their right mind would do that."

O'Neill smiles. He always likes visiting Everett Young because the man knows you can't shine shit. Which is exactly what this base is in its current form. "Not going to kiss my ass, huh, Colonel?"

"No, sir, I'm a married man."

"I can see why you'd want to keep her happy," O'Neill tilts his head at the desktop picture of a very attractive woman.

Young nods but his smile vanishes and O'Neill gets the impression he doesn't like where the conversation is headed as he redirects it back at O'Neill. "And you, General? Have anyone back on earth?"

"No," O'Neill answers truthfully. The two men regard each other silently for a moment and then there's a rap at the door indicating that Ramirez has, rather uncannily O'Neill thinks, found him. He checks his watch and then rises. "Ship commanders at 1030."

"Yeah," Young concurs, "We want to keep them happy."

O'Neill studies the colonel's expression but there's just a nonchalant smile as he opens the door for the general.

The trio enters the briefing room to find five sets of ship's officers, several of whom actually have no ship to operate. With a nod of acknowledgement, O'Neill gets down to business as the officers settle into their chairs. "Morning, people." O'Neill takes a folder from General Caldwell, who wastes no time launching into a status report. And it's a pretty damned gloomy status report as he goes around the table, ascertaining the condition of each ship and crew.

He waits until they get to Carter before allowing himself to indulge in just looking at her. He can afford to daydream because he has every bit of information on the _George Hammond _routed to his inbox already. He watches Carter wax enthusiastic about the ship for a few satisfying minutes with her eyes bright and ponytail swinging- and then he watches her 2IC, Grant Smith. Nice kid, a blonde-haired stocky farm boy as reliable and solid as his name, and obviously enamored with his CO. O'Neill's not the jealous type- okay maybe he is, he admits- but it's hard to miss how attentive Smith is. The major is bordering on obsequiousness, which wouldn't be all that unusual for an up-and-coming young officer, except that he's smiling far too much for someone who just wants to impress his commander.

"The ship appears to be in perfect shape, General," Sam says, directing her comments at the newly-minted commander of the fleet. "We're just about done with the computer systems check."

"That fast?" Caldwell raises his eyebrows. "You both just got here."

"Major Smith's been putting in a little overtime."

"Nice work," Caldwell nods approvingly. O'Neill watches Smith as Smith watches Carter, looking for her reaction. And damned if Carter doesn't do what she always does, and that is reward good work with an appreciative smile which Smith soaks up like a sponge.

O'Neill finishes listening to all the reports including Carter's, which the major listens to with rapture, and when the meeting draws to a close he waits until the crowd thins and then asks Carter and Smith to stay behind. "Nice work, Colonel," he says to her. "Good job picking out your second, too."

"Thank you General." Carter says happily. From reading Smith's record, which had also been routed to his inbox, O'Neill has no doubt that Smith is a very capable airman and that part makes him feel just a little better about her taking off into the wild black yonder without him.

Then O'Neill turns his gaze on the young Major. "I've known Carter here for a long time, Smith."

"Yes, sir. SG-1 is legendary, sir." It's clear Smith doesn't know what the hell he's done to warrant the attention of a Lieutenant General, but he apparently figures it can't be good.

"Let me give you a couple of pieces of advice," he glances briefly at Carter. "First, she's the best CO you'll ever have and you damn well better listen to everything she says, even if you don't understand a single word of it."

O'Neill can feel her rolling her eyes even if he can't see it. But he knows he's right and he's not going to apologize for telling her 2IC the truth. "And second, if you don't keep your eyes off her ass I'll bust yours all the way back down to crop-duster duty."

The major is utterly speechless but his CO has plenty to say, "General," Carter sputters, "With all due respect, _if_ there's a problem here I'll handle it myself."

O'Neill shrugs. "I just saved you the trouble." Then he smiles brightly at the two of them and adds, "Now, how about lunch?"

Major Smith mumbles something about computers and beats a hasty retreat back to the launching bays, Ramirez has already mysteriously vanished with impeccable timing, and so it's only O'Neill and Carter who set off down the hallway. "That was completely unnecessary," she hisses beneath a counterfeit smile in case anyone should happen to glance their way.

"Just helping out a former team mate," his smile is genuine, and very broad.

"That's bull-" Carter catches herself. "Bull. You wouldn't have done that if it was Daniel instead of me."

"If Daniel was in charge of that ship, I'd bust _Caldwell's_ ass down to crop-duster duty."

"You know what I mean." Carter says. "It's nothing but a little case of hero-worship, if that."

"Oh no, no, I don't _think_ so." O'Neill smiles smugly. "I've seen that look before."

"Where?" she says, turning the corner abruptly. Her pony tail whips against his shoulder and after watching her animated discussion of her work with Smith's adoring eyes on her the whole time, he's nearly overwhelmed by the impulse to grab it, turn her head to him and kiss her right there in the hallway until she begs for mercy or something more. That'd get the point across to the entire Home World Command, he's sure.

Instead, he taps into his Special Forces psyops training, invading her personal space to reach for the doorknob to the officer's dining hall- another unnecessary luxury here at Icarus base. "I once had a 2IC who looked at me that way," he leans in to whisper, "And look where that got me." She blushes and smiles in an utterly adorable way for a forty-year old Colonel and commander of a spaceship, and he knows it's mission accomplished. Target disarmed.

Then she surprises him by beating him to the doorknob before he can open the door. "I think I'll go back to the ship, too." She keeps the door firmly shut.

"You're gonna _leave_ me with this bunch?" Jack asks, sounding a little more desperate than was proper for a general requesting the presence of a colonel.

"Diplomacy is your job, not mine." She smiles sweetly. "But I did want to thank you for fixing the present."

"No problem. But you might have to give it a bit harder whack to get the same effect, though." He was suddenly sad at the thought of the bottle not being full. The base was only pressurized at the equivalent of a seven-thousand-foot altitude and it would be cool to see how big a bang an unopened bottle of champagne could make up here.

"I already did," she laughs, a little self-consciously. "Sorry about that."

"You did? Wait, I didn't want to miss that ceremony." Crap, that's _two_ big events he's missed this week alone, O'Neill realizes. But Carter just smiles and turns on her heel and he's left to dine with the VIPs without anyone around who's interesting enough to keep him from falling asleep. He reluctantly opens the door with a resigned sigh, and takes a place next to the head of the IOA because they're the only open seats left. One on each side of the man.

O'Neill manages to pretend to be interested in the various conversations for a minute or two, but by the time the Senator's daughter gets up to give a toast he's pretty much zoned out completely. Until suddenly the entire room rocks. For a moment he thinks he might have drifted off and jerked back awake, but the looks on the other faces in the room tell him otherwise. There's another shock and a muffled boom and he's on his feet. "This is not a drill, folks. Civilians to the gate..." Jack orders as he swings open the door. The overhead lights flick out and after a brief moment of darkness the eerie blue of emergency lighting switches on. "Everybody else, get to your posts!"

He's carried along in a current as the hallway fills with airmen and scientists, and he can hear Young behind him efficiently directing traffic as he moves into the nearest shadowy stairwell and down into the depths of the base as it shudders, fine dust filling the air. He knows no one needs to tell Carter what to do and he's thankful she skipped lunch because she and the crew of the _Hammond_ are the only thing standing between this base and annihilation, and he forces himself not to think about what else that means. Descending down the stairs by twos, he stops at level six, the level of the Icarus gate room. Just past the entry door to level six is a hip-high steel gate that he swings across the stairwell to keep people from going any further down without a compelling reason to do so, and then he keeps going until he's in the command center on level ten.

To his relief Major Ramirez has beaten him there, only a small rip in the shoulder of her usually impeccable uniform and his briefcase in her hands. "Status," he barks to the most senior officer present, an SG team leader he recognizes as Colonel Telford. Telford turns silently from a bank of monitor screens, dark eyes set in a grim expression, shaking his head. O'Neill really doesn't need to know any more than that.

---------------------------------------------------

"This is the last photo we have, General," Caldwell says, sliding an 8x10 across O'Neill's desk. It's a cock-eyed still from a video taken the previous day by a 302, showing the _George Hammond _taking a direct hit a the starboard side from a Lucien Alliance ha'tak. "Obviously, her shields were failing."

O'Neill's own shields fail as he examines the photo. "They had to be. Carter wouldn't have opened a window if she thought there was any fight left in her." _Left in him, _he corrects himself mentally, thinking back to the champagne conversation_._ He lays the photo down, trying to stay focused while the world disintegrates around him. "She was trying to save the crew."

Caldwell nods. "We sent out a 302 to the escape co-ordinates, Jack. But there was no sign of her."

"They probably fell out of hyperdrive." O'Neill sits back, willing himself to stay calm, his hands spread on either side of the photo as if to anchor himself to the desk. "We'll still find them." As opposed to the people who went through the malfunctioning stargate, but he doesn't say that. He and Caldwell both know they've just survived the biggest disaster in the history of Stargate Command.

"I would send a ship out on sublight engines, if I knew where to look."

"That excuse is getting a little tired, don't you think?" O'Neill questions the colonel sharply. "You know the route to those co-ordinates."

Caldwell sighs and shuts his eyes briefly, then opens them and looks at O'Neill. "But Sam didn't know."

"What?" He can't believe that. Carter wouldn't overlook anything that important. Never. But the look on Caldwell's face tells him someone did. O'Neill's heart starts to pound, waiting for Caldwell to drop the other shoe.

"When the 302 returned without sighting the _Hammond_, we did a little digging. New escape co-ordinates are sent out monthly, but the _Hammond's_ computers weren't up and running when they were sent."

"So? Check the old co-ordinates." O'Neill knows it's an unnecessary request, because the Colonel has already been there, done that, got the wrong answer. But he's going to pretend for a little while longer that there's a chance that Sam will come home. Just a few more seconds of sanity before his life falls apart.

Caldwell shakes his head with barely restrained anger. "They weren't programmed in, either. The techs thought they could just wait for the next update, which would have been tomorrow."

"She could be anywhere." O'Neill says quietly, the hopelessness of the situation finally crashing in on him. He shoves his chair back from the desk and runs his hand through his hair. "Anywhere in the entire Milky Way Galaxy."

"Can you think of co-ordinates where she might go?"

"Co-ordinates?" O'Neill shakes his head in angry confusion, "Fuck co-ordinates, Caldwell, we dialed _gate addresses_. How the hell would she know co-ordinates? Do you?"

"No," Caldwell admits. "I pick our destination, the computer inputs the co-ordinates. And there was no time for that- that's why… "

"That's why there are _escape co-ordinates_." O'Neill finishes for him, slamming his hand down on the desk and standing up abruptly enough to knock his own chair over.

Hearing the crash, Major Ramirez opens the door to O'Neill's office, rapping on it as it swings open. "Sir," she says calmly, "May I be of assistance?"

"No," O'Neill answers tersely. "No one can." O'Neill turns his back on the other officers and walks over to stare out the window at the lazy blue Potomac, just visible over the trees in the distance. "You're both dismissed."

"Jack, we're going to look at every destination in that computer, every route. We're not giving up."

"I know," he says without turning around, his words as hard and cold as ice. "Ramirez."

"Yes, General." Her voice is steady and O'Neill doesn't see her black eyes blinking quickly, sweeping away the tears.

"Find General Landry and tell him it's his watch for a while."

"Yes, sir." He hears them both depart.

He should have been ready for this. The ever-present risk of death had stalked them for well over a decade and he'd thought he'd come to terms with it- but he hadn't. Not even close. He'd kept his feelings for her packed away tightly until it was safe to let them out, until she was safe at Area 51, and he'd quite simply been denying the possibility that she could die ever since. Being isolated in the reassuring familiarity of his office with the news about her missions coming to him well after the fact, after he knew she was already home, only reinforced his illusion of her immortality. Never in four years had he found himself in the position of having to wait to find out if she was dead or alive.

He feels just like he did that last year at the SGC, or maybe when she was lost with the Prometheus- except the emotions are magnified by the depth of their intimacy and he feels his heart closing up just like it did then, just as he'd forced it to do for all those years. He doesn't know any other way to cope besides denial and despair because that keeps him self-contained, walled off, able to perform his duties, decisive, focused, robotic.

And nearly dead inside.

--------------------------------------------

Jack steps onto the sidewalk in front of his townhouse, happy to have been forced to take a cab home considering today he could bring a whole new meaning to the phrase "road rage". He enters his house only to find Daniel sitting on the couch in the front room. "I _know_ I learned to lock my place," he says, eyeing the other man suspiciously from the doorway.

"The Major called me and told me where to find the key."

"Shouldn't you be on some planet analyzing ruins or something?" Jack says, tossing his briefcase on the couch next to Daniel.

Daniel sits forward, his forearms resting on his knees, his demeanor serious. "You know, Jack, you aren't the only one who cares about her."

"Right. Sorry." Jack nods. He does forget that sometimes. Always, actually.

"And she's not the only one who cares about you."

"Oh, here we go." Jack turns away shaking his head and walks into the kitchen area. "Save your breath, Daniel." He grabs a whiskey tumbler and throws some ice cubes in it hard enough that one flies back out again and rattles across the counter. "I've got half a base full of people re-routed so far away not even _you_ can wrap your brain around it, an entire crew gone on the _Hammond_ and another several dozen who are nothing but space mummies up on Icarus. And let's not forget the couple of hundred we lost two weeks ago." He pauses for a moment with his head down, both hands on the counter as if he's ready to collapse. It's the first time he's tallied up the losses and the enormity of it is just too much for one person to bear.

"What are you going to do, Jack?" Daniel asks calmly.

"What I was going to do before I knew you were here." Jack slams the cupboard door shut, and then pours the scotch. "Get mind-bogglingly drunk." He can't do anything about it, he can't think about it and he sure as hell can't talk about it so a few hours of oblivion seems like the logical thing to do.

"Let me help."

"Help? How, Daniel? His dark eyes flash. "Find some nifty bit of Ancient tech that you've been holding out on us?" Jack takes a generous drink. "After all, we can _totally_ handle that Ancient tech, can't we?"

Before Daniel can respond, the doorbell rings. "Damn," Jack mutters, and walks quickly over to the door, yanking it open.

"Hello, O'Neill." says his old alien friend Teal'c. "I have come to help you find Colonel Carter."


	5. Spacetime Symmetries

High angst warning in effect. (If you want to avoid any "M" material, it's after the "jump" quote and before the last break). Don't get your hopes up, though... the presence of some lovin' does not a happy chapter make!

* * *

_"Hello, O'Neill." says his old alien friend Teal'c. "I have come to help you find Colonel Carter."_

_---------------------------------  
_

"So… when a ship uses hyperspace to travel to escape co-ordinates, they don't actually go very far, do they?" Daniel surmises.

Jack stares at the ceiling, his head all the way back against the top of the overstuffed chair in which he's sprawled, his third scotch in his hand. It's never been all that easy to make Daniel understand that far and near is a relative concept when it comes to space travel. He lifts head to look at his friend. "Not very far is still pretty damn far. They don't call it 'space' for nothing, Daniel."

"We need a targeted search, then." Daniel muses, chewing on the end of his chewed-up pencil. "We need to think like Sam."

"Good luck with that." Jack's head goes back again.

"What do you want to do, Jack? Give up?" Daniel asks peevishly, tossing his pencil down on the notebook resting on the coffee table in front of him.

"No," Jack answers quietly. "I just want her back." The naked honesty of that simple statement and the raw pain in his voice take them all by surprise, and the three friends sit in silence, the only sound being the clink of the melting ice cubes shifting in Jack's glass.

At last Teal'c says, "I agree that we do not think like Colonel Carter."

"Teal'c, what Daniel means is that we need to look at things from her perspective."

"Wait, Jack…" Daniel looks intently at Teal'c, "Teal'c's right. Sam's not just smart- we literally don't think like her. Remember that Apple computer ad- 'Think different.'?"

"Yeah. They seriously fucked up the language," Jack observes.

"You're not so proper, either," Daniel points out the irony.

"At least I swear in grammatically correct sentences."

"Anyway," Daniel quickly continues after catching an impatient stare from Teal'c, "Sam is a numerical genius," His eyes light up in that way that makes Jack glad he's not his CO anymore, although this time he's happy to see it. "Not only can she calculate in her head, she remembers numbers like we remember everything- in pictures, or patterns. And that's why she doesn't forget."

"Then she may have entered coordinates for a destination to which she travelled in the past, coordinates that we cannot recall." Teal'c says.

"And probably never knew." Jack adds. He's not even sure he'd recognize a set of coordinates if it jumped up and bit him on the ass. Still, he feels they're finally making some headway here and tiny rays of hope break through his dark despondency. Sitting up, he leans over to eye Daniel's list. "Maybe I can cross-reference the dates and destinations of Sam's missions with the deployment databank for the ships."

Daniel grins and sits back. "You sound just like her."

Jack smiles wryly and inspects his empty glass. "That's the nicest thing anyone's said about me in a long time."

Daniel studies Jack for a long moment. "You and I can track down these coordinates at the SGC. Then Teal'c and I will start looking, while General Caldwell works on it from his end."

"With _what_?" Jack asks, despair and anger never very far from the surface. "We're trying to find the _Destiny_, trying to salvage Icarus- and all of the remaining ships can barely get off the ground." He sets the glass down roughly on the coffee table.

"However," Teal'c says with a rare smile, "the Free Jaffa Nation owes a debt of gratitude to Colonel Carter for securing Dakara. To fail to come to her aid would be dishonorable."

"Well, we wouldn't want to tarnish your image," Jack smiles, for the first time since Sam went missing.

--------------------------------------------

A week later, O'Neill stands in the control room at the SGC staring out at the gate. He doesn't know why he's here. She's not going to come through it or she would have already. But it's been his obsession and the officers around him have long since quit asking Harriman and Ramirez why General O'Neill can't take his eyes off of the stargate. Sometimes he's in the control room, and sometimes he's in the briefing room, but he definitely isn't going back to Washington and Ramirez has resigned herself to the fact that the SGC has become Home World Command West. And no one has the audacity to point out that since he's got one eye on the gate most of the time, the General apparently doesn't sleep much, either, except when he falls asleep with his head down on the briefing room table.

Right now he's standing in the space between two computers, his arms crossed resolutely, wearing blue BDUs which only serve to emphasize the dark circles under his eyes. The iris closes and then opens again as if it's winking at O'Neill, telling him it knows Carter's fate but isn't going to share the secret. "What's up with that?" O'Neill irritably asks no one in particular.

Sgt. Harriman shrugs. "The iris has been doing it ever since the attack on Icarus, but the gate still works fine."

Like that's acceptable, O'Neill thinks. He gets the feeling no one really gives a shit anymore and he reflects on just how far they've all fallen in the last two weeks. He's always thought the world would end in a bang, but maybe it's just going to go out in a pathetic whimper, after all. "Carter said there were too many damned gates here."

No one answers him, as if they're all uncomfortable talking about the recently deceased and it makes O'Neill want to launch a chair right through the observation window because he knows that everywhere- at the IOA, the Pentagon and even behind closed doors at the HWC they're already talking about just how many more resources can be expended looking for the _George Hammond_.

At that moment, the incoming alarm sounds off, and in a few seconds more Teal'c walks out of the wormhole, his gaze fixing on O'Neill's with a grim shake of his head. Every eye in the control room shifts to O'Neill's face, but he gives away nothing as he stalks out to meet Teal'c in Daniel's lab, Ramirez following in his silent wake.

"There was no sign of the ship in that quadrant. The crew will rest and redeploy in two days." Teal'c says, leaning his staff weapon against the wall by the door, then turning around to contemplate his friend. "You do not look well, O'Neill."

"Ya think?" O'Neill sits heavily on a stool next to the lab bench with a sigh, followed by a cough. He doesn't see Teal'c's glance of concern at Ramirez and Daniel. "So what's next?"

"One of the many benefits of having a lifespan of two hundred years is that the Jaffa are very patient. And we do not give up easily."

"Wish we could say the same about the IOA," Daniel interjects crossly.

"Once you figure out that a dog is a dog, you can't be surprised when it barks," O'Neill says wearily. He puts an elbow on the counter and rests his forehead on the heel of his palm. He doesn't know if it's because he's gotten use to his cushy office with a view, but suddenly the base feels closed in and stifling and he pulls on the collar of his t-shirt, though it's already loose on his neck.

"Sir, are you having trouble breathing?" Ramirez asks with suspicious concern.

"Maybe." O'Neill nods. A look of alarm takes hold over every face in the room besides his. Daniel reaches for the phone to dial the medics, knowing full well that any admission of weakness on the part of Jack O'Neill means he's likely on death's doorstep.

"Don't- Daniel," O'Neill waves at the phone with annoyance. "I forgot to take the drugs."

"Jack." Daniel says reprovingly as he hangs up the phone.

"I've been a little _busy_." Ramirez hands him his briefcase and he dutifully searches out the pills, knocking them back with some bottled water that Daniel has out on the bench, not even asking how many days the water has been sitting there. He rests his head on his hand again, closes his eyes and waits for the spell to pass, but it's obvious to everyone in the room that he's had these attacks before.

"Jack, you're out of time. You need to follow Sam's plan."

"Luckily, Sam's plans are with Sam, Daniel. So you're just going to have to find her first." O'Neill's eyes remain shut as he concentrates on making one breath follow the next.

"No- no, General," Ramirez stammers, nervous for the first time that anyone can recall. "I copied everything she wrote, word for word… I mean number for number." O'Neill raises his head and stares at her, but quickly realizes that he shouldn't be surprised. As Carter is to physics, so Ramirez is to paperwork.

"We gave the equations to McKay, since he's been stuck here for a while." Daniel confesses. "He's managed to fill in the details and we're ready to go when you are."

It's a goddamned conspiracy, O'Neill thinks, shaking his head. He doesn't stand a chance and at this point he's too weak to fight, or to do much of anything else for that matter. But he just can't bring himself to step back, to let someone else worry about the fate of the world and Samantha Carter, not even if it's the last thing he does.

"O'Neill," Teal'c says gently, "…it will take months to search all the coordinates available to us and to your military. There is nothing you can do." Except die, but Teal'c is far too diplomatic to say that.

"I can make sure they do it," O'Neill says firmly.

"They will, for now." Daniel says somberly. "But you said yourself that things are forgotten. People, too."

"You are no good to Colonel Carter or to the Tau'ri if you are dead, O'Neill." Teal'c points out, not so diplomatic after all. "You cannot help her now. But you might be able to help her later."

O'Neill abruptly lifts his head and stares at Teal'c. He'd been worlds away when she'd said those very words. There's no way she could possibly have talked about any of this with Teal'c.

_Maybe you just want to be the one to die first._

"All right," he sighs in resignation, "When do we leave?"

-----------------------------------------------

"Boy is my ass gonna hurt after two days of sitting in that thing." O'Neill says, nodding in the general direction of the 302 that is fixed in the weapons bay of the much larger al'kesh.

"It may be less, O'Neill. We will contact you if Dr. Taylor believes a cure has been found." Teal'c explains, his massive hands on the red steering crystal.

"How about if Carter shows up?'

Teal'c shakes his head.

"_What_?" O'Neill abruptly stops pacing around the bridge to stop and stare at Teal'c.

"We are all in agreement that your behavior can be unpredictable where Colonel Carter is concerned."

O'Neill can't disagree with that, but he has no intention of letting Teal'c off the hook so easily. "If I didn't know they were toast, I'd think you guys had been taking lessons from the Tollan on how to be patronizing buttheads."

Teal'c raises an eyebrow but his eyes stay on course. "Believe what you wish, O'Neill. It is unlikely that we will tell you anything of note while you are gone."

O'Neill glances at him peevishly and then takes the seat beside the alien. "Are we there yet?"

"Yes."

"Really?" O'Neill stands back up again. "Any place I'd know?"

"A collapsing binary star fairly close to your solar system."

O'Neill stares out the window, the dim pair of stars spinning so rapidly and so close together they appear to be one mass in the blackness of space. "Close to my solar system," he muses aloud.

Teal'c brings the ship to a halt. "And not far from the system containing P3X-124."

"This is what got me- us- stranded there?"

"I believe so, O'Neill."

"I'll be damned." O'Neill turns from the view feeling vaguely uneasy. "Why'd she pick that?"

"We do not know." Teal'c walks back toward the weapons bay and disappears behind a pylon.

"It doesn't matter," pipes up Dr. Rodney McKay from behind the bulkhead where he'd been reading. "It'll distort spacetime sufficiently and it's close to earth so why not?"

"Just as good as any other gravity-sucking thing out there, huh?"

McKay shrugs.

"That's not like you, McKay." O'Neill says, zipping up his flight suit. "You can't resist the urge to improve on things."

"Not this time," McKay shakes his head with certainty as the two men walk down towards the 302. "This is pure, unadulterated classic Sam Carter grade A craziness."

"In that case," O'Neill says with a grin, "It'll work." He slides his helmet on, looking up as he fastens it. "Two days in this? Couldn't you pick something that at least had a bathroom?"

Teal'c smiles and tosses O'Neill an empty plastic jug with a large screw-top lid. "Nice," he says dryly, tucking the bottle in a duffle bag of items he's taking with him on the short trip.

McKay gives O'Neill a perturbed look. "She specified a 302 and it makes sense because if the spacecraft is too big the difference in the tidal forces could shred the ship. Not to mention what it'd do to _you_ if you got too far from the center of the spacecraft. This way, you can't move around." Handing him a laptop, he adds, "The calculations are very, very precise. A couple of hundred meters too far from the Schwarzschild radius and not enough time will pass. Too close…."

"And you guys will have forgotten all about me."

"Well, yes. And you'll probably fall into the sun so it won't matter."

"Thanks for the reminder." O'Neill starts to climb up the ladder to the cockpit when he is stopped by a large hand on his shoulder.

"Good luck, O'Neill." Teal'c says solemnly. O'Neill has to remind himself this two-day tour isn't going to be that short for everyone else. He gives Teal'c's hand a brief squeeze, as if to tell him not to worry, and then continues up the ladder.

Settling into the small spacecraft he looks down at the two other men with a wistful smile and gives them one final order- "Now go find Carter." Then the canopy comes down, the airlock doors slide shut and in seconds he's dropped out into space.

O'Neill slowly brings the 302 around until the fading binary fills the windshield. "Go for departure in 3, 2, 1…" he recites out of habit and then O'Neill guns it to near light-speed straight into a brief hyperspace window that puts him in the exact orbit Sam specified, quickly finding himself slinging around the dying suns so fast that he can't see the stars anymore. He sends a brief confirmation message to the SGC. And then he waits.

----------------------------------------

McKay has programmed the laptop with a special clock and Jack spends a few minutes of every hour just staring at it, trying to comprehend what it represents. On the left is his time, which seems to pass incredibly slowly but he's pretty sure that's just because he's bored out of his mind. The one to the right on the desktop shows the date on earth- and it changes every two minutes.

In another hour he receives his first communication from the SGC. It's Daniel, and he has a new haircut just since this morning. Only it's not this morning, Jack remembers. It's been a month. Jack scrutinizes Daniel for any sign that he has news about Sam; but true to his word Daniel maintains a poker face, only telling him that things are fine.

"Liar," Jack mutters. Daniel wouldn't tell him the truth right now if his life depended on it. They can't talk in real-time because Jack's message will take hours to climb out of the gravity well and so he just checks in briefly.

A few hours later, the comm. line switches on again. "For God's sake, Jack, it's been three months. Don't you think you could drop us a line?" Landry leans over, as if someone is whispering in his ear. "Okay- well- if we woke you up, sorry. Oh- and you'll be happy to know the Cubs won the World Series. Teal'c and I had seats over home plate," Landry says smugly. There was a time when Jack cared about that kind of thing, but not anymore. Although he deduces that things must be all right on earth if they're still holding the World Series, and he sends the SGC another short message.

After a tasteless lunch of half of an MRE, he dutifully takes his pills and obsessively checks the time. Another twenty-four hours to go. He unzips his flight suit, reaches inside and pulls out a worn, faded piece of paper, the writing barely visible. Turning it over in his hands he wonders if she's working on the new one now, and if he'll ever get a chance to see it. And he wonders what could have been so goddamned important that they never made it to Tahiti. With a sigh, he folds the paper back up along permanent lines and replaces it in his pocket, then finally falls into a deep and dreamless sleep.

It's forty-seven hours total when finally Dr. Taylor calls, informing him that a cure has been found. Instead of feeling relieved, he feels quite the opposite. It's suspiciously convenient that the doc had made this last transmission, since she could look straight into the camera without having to hide the fact that Sam's not there because her job is research, not search and rescue. There's absolutely no point in withholding any information about Sam now that he's coming home, which means there is simply no information to give him- and at that moment he knows he will never see Samantha Carter again.

Jack doesn't process the end of the message as his vision tunnels and the sound recedes from his ears. He's strapped into the cockpit, confined in the small space, completely alone with his rampant feelings and all he can think about is what Teal'c said about his unpredictable behavior, what McKay said about tidal forces and he knows he's only a hundred meters away from not having to think about Sam any more. His eyes close as his breathing quickens and his hands twitch on the controls- but it's almost as if she's standing right behind him, yanking him back from the edge.

Putting his mind on autopilot and his heart on lockdown he concentrates on what Taylor had said about meeting Teal'c at the drop-off point in one week, earth time. Which basically gives Jack fifteen minutes to open a hyperspace window and get out.

He doesn't remember setting the navigation system or engaging the hyperdrive, but suddenly he finds himself amid motionless stars, the suns now far behind him. Jack looks down at the clock and sees only ten minutes have elapsed, and realizes he screwed up and probably should go back for a few minutes or he'll have to spend two more long days waiting for Teal'c.

He can't really bring himself to care about that, though, and looking out at the crystalline points of light, he's absolutely transfixed by what he sees. These patterns aren't mysterious and alien- they're as familiar and comforting to him as the constellations back on earth. Jack lets his hands drift away from the instrument panel, then slowly takes his helmet off for a better view and leans back to look at the stars, gasping as he feels the memories wash over him. He's floating perfectly still in the cold, silent emptiness of space and yet he feels so very close to her out here. Here, he's not alone.

He remembers lying on his back with Carter beside him, looking at this very sky, sometimes listening to her talk and sometimes the two of them just staring up in silence with the electricity arcing between them so intensely that it was almost visible in the moonless black night. And then he remembers the first time they did connect, not just magnets but electromagnets with the current turned up high.

"_Do you remember," she pauses slightly, "standing in the open cargo bay door with a parachute on your back for the very first time?"_

_He nods and smiles, knowing she picked out this metaphor just for him._

"_That's how I feel now. It's going to be the biggest thrill of my life or it's going to break me into little tiny pieces. And I'm not sure what to do."_

_Jack tips his head until his lips are just above the curve of her ear._

"_Jump," he whispers._

Jack remembers the moment they jumped.

He's holding her on a bench by the fire, the time stretching into some future neither one of them can see- but he's frozen in this moment with his heart in her hands because the regs are there to protect her. For years he's had to bite his tongue, walk away, let her go because there is no other choice- it's up to her. It's always been up to her. And whatever happens now is up to her.

But willing to take the risk, Carter goes first, slowly raising her head and meeting his eyes. Without a moment's hesitation his lips touch hers, sealing their fate. She feels warm and soft and so, _so_ right unlike the other times and when she opens her mouth to his he knows he can't stop there. And he can't even make up a reason why he should. Their relationship is so unlike any other that there's nothing there to guide them- they've already slept and bled and cried and died in each other's arms and he's pretty damned sure not even Dr. Phil can help him now.

He laces his fingers through her hair, pulling them through the tangled, luxurious strands and the feel of that makes her break the kiss, arching her head back against his hand in a slow, sensual move that almost makes him groan with desire, her throat exposed as if she's offering herself for a sacrifice and by God, he intends to take it. Jack tightens his grip to keep her from moving as he swings one leg over the bench, straddling it so he can pull her in closer and this time he doesn't have to hide the taut ache beneath his BDUs because she needs to know what she's doing to him, what he wants to do to her. His face sinks to her neck, exquisitely smooth against his weathered skin and so sensitive that the brush of his lips makes her sigh and a teasing nip of his teeth makes her whimper with pure pleasure, the sounds making his entire body flush hot and cold and hard. Her hand curls around the nape of his neck, nails digging into his tense muscles as the other arm tightens around his waist, "Samantha," he murmurs, his lips dry from the heat and his own labored breathing, "I'm not going anywhere."

At least he knows he kept that promise.

He remembers how she whispers his name in a small pleading voice, but he doesn't know what she does or doesn't want him to do as he drops his hands to slide over the flare of her hips and under the faded brown t-shirt, contacting bare skin, her waist so thin now that he can encircle it completely, but he doesn't want to stop there. What he wants is to keep slipping higher across warm skin, to cup her heavy breasts in his hands because he knows that Carter sleeps with nothing under her T-shirt. That's a fact he's known for years, because he knows everything that's important for his survival. And for years he's wanted to do exactly what he's doing now, teasing her with the pads of his thumbs and violating her mouth with his own until she squirms on the hard seat of the bench they're sitting on, feeling her chest rise and fall beneath his fingertips, the soft inner skin of her arms slipping along the flexed muscles of his arms as she lifts the hem of his t-shirt, forcing him to break contact until he can bring his arms down and reach for her again, this time cradling her face in the palm of his hand, made rough by the work he's been doing just to keep them alive. She turns her face into his hand, eyes closed, like a cat seeking nothing but the pleasure of his touch as her soft cheek caresses his callused skin, and he can feel her trembling.

"Sam," he says softly enough to cover the edges of desire in his voice, and she opens her eyes, smoky blue in the low light from the fire. "I need you," he demands simply. She can interpret that in any way she wants, because it's true in every way he can imagine. She fixes her eyes on his face and he pulls her to her feet, slipping her clothing off so that he can wrap his arms around her, crushing her to his naked chest, skin to skin and breath to breath until he thinks he can't take anymore.

But he can, and he does.

Jack remembers all of it like it was yesterday. "I knew I couldn't be the center of your universe," he whispers as the stars snap back into focus and the memory fades away. "But I'm glad you were the center of mine."

---------------------------------------

He replaces his helmet with sure hands, his demeanor now focused and calm. Scrolling through the onboard computer he swiftly selects the destination he wants, somewhere else that he has to go. Maybe he'll come back and rendezvous with Teal'c in two days time; but if Jack is totally honest with himself- and at this point there's no reason not to be- he has to admit that the likelihood of that is approximately equal to a snowball's chance in hell.

P3X-124 is just around the corner, galactically speaking, and so he opens another hyperspace window. In a few minutes more he's flying over the densely forested planet, then over the stargate, then approaching the village he and Carter had first stumbled upon four- no, six- years ago.

Jack has finally come home.


	6. Action at a Distance

_P3X-124 is just around the corner, galactically speaking, and so he opens another hyperspace window. In a few minutes more he's flying over the densely forested planet, then over the stargate, then approaching the grassy meadow he and Carter had first stumbled upon four- no, six- years ago._

_Jack has finally come home._

But this time, someone else is already there.

Jack stares in disbelief as the stark shadow of the 302 drifts across the broken hulk of a Daedalus-class spaceship already occupying the landing site he had planned to use. He doesn't see any signs of life but there's no way to tell from this altitude how long it's been there. He's been gone for two years, after all, and Teal'c had said they wouldn't tell him anything that would cause him to alter the plan- and a crashed 304 minutes from his orbit certainly fit _that _description. He'd have been here in a heartbeat if he'd known, prions be damned.

He pilots the fighter in closer, moving slowly forward from the aft of the ship, looking for its identification along the starboard side because it's so badly damaged he can't tell if it's the _Odyssey, Apollo, Daedelus_ or even the _Sun Tzu- _recovered only to be lost again. The 302 drifts along the length of the immense metal carcass until finally Jack comes across a single letter, its scorched paint barely visible- and it's enough to suck the breath from his lungs. He's never been a spelling bee finalist but he knows the only ship with an "M" in its name is the _George Hammond_.

"God," is the only word he allows himself, spoken with a rough whisper as his heart begins to pound in his ears. The spacecraft is a total loss and the sickening sight of the blast damage across the bridge tempers the thrill of finding Sam's ship. Still, the _Hammond_ made it here, he reasons. It was under _someone's _command when it landed.

When it landed two years ago.

With shaking hands he pilots the tiny spacecraft in between the ship and the forest, touching down alongside the empty, battered hull. His fingers scrabble at the buckle of his restraints as he frees himself from the cockpit, not bothering to let down the ladder but sliding across the fuselage and dropping to the soft turf of the meadow seconds after landing.

P3X124 is just like it was the day he and Carter discovered it- hot and still without a cloud in the perfect blue sky. He squints up at the brooding, bent mass in front of him and removes his helmet, and that's when he realizes that there is something very, very different about P3X-124 this time around. This time there's sound.

His eyes sweep across the field to the village as he turns, a jumble of memories falling over him. He doesn't dare think- he can hardly breathe- when first one, then another person appears at the edge of the familiar collection of tiny houses and Jack can hear their clear voices pulling at him from across the meadow where not a single blade of grass moves.

He drops his helmet, the heavy gear making only a muffled sound as it hits the ground. Jack takes a few steps, the dry grass rustling loudly, and then he begins to run.

A yellow-haired airman in a faded blue jumpsuit is the first person he encounters and it takes him a few seconds to realize it is the previously-portly Major Smith, now tanned and lean in the unforgiving sun. Unrestrained tears of relief stream down the man's angular face as he snaps into a salute. "General O'Neill."

O'Neill swallows hard. "At ease, Major," he says, just before the officer wraps him in a desperate embrace, youth and strength paradoxically crumbling to pieces in Jack's weary arms. "It's all right, Smith. You're gonna be okay." He hugs Smith reassuringly but it's himself that he's trying to keep together, his mind screaming, reaching, wanting to know the answer to just one question out of all the questions he has clamoring for attention in his brain.

Regaining his composure, Smith finally steps back. "She told us you'd come, General. If you were alive, you'd find us." Jack searches the airman's face and finds complete and unwavering faith in a commanding officer. He's seen that look before, too.

O'Neill nods, and his eyes turn toward the little house at the edge of the village, the place that either holds the answer or doesn't- and for the first time, Jack truly understands quantum physics. If she is still alive, she'll be there; in the place where they had first come together, the only real home either one of them had ever known for well over a decade. And if she isn't… He starts to take a step in that direction, when he feels Smith's hand on his arm.

"Sir, there's something you should know…" but Jack only glances at Smith's concerned expression before jerking his arm away. He doesn't stop moving and he doesn't want to hear what Smith has to say. There are noises- laughter, talking and the slamming of doors and in his peripheral vision he is dimly aware that there are more people, people everywhere, coming out of every hut, people trying to talk to him, hugging each other, running and shouting. And even babies crying.

There is a child, too, playing in the shade on the front step of the house he once called home, carefully watched by a petite young officer. The woman smiles at him in recognition and with tears in her eyes she salutes. "General O'Neill. We're so glad to see you, Sir." He thinks he should know her but he doesn't, and feeling as if he's in some kind of dream, he can only nod back. Jack turns to study the little girl, barefoot and dressed in a simple handsewn shift- and the curve of the baby's little round cheek and the familiar sparkle in her tiny blue eyes take his breath away, instantly informing him that the woman standing beside the child is not her mother. He hears Smith come to a stop behind him, but the man no longer tries to say anything as Jack kneels down and smiles at the baby, who can't be more than a year old. He does the math and files it away under facts to be dealt with later. It doesn't matter how old she is- to Jack she 's beautiful. She is hope.

"Sir," Smith says, his voice low and quiet, "She's inside." The tone of his voice blocks the immense relief Jack should be feeling at the knowledge that he's finally found Sam. There are so many, many things wrong with this picture that in his confusion he can't think of what to do or say next. The little girl looks up at Smith with big, fearful eyes and holds up her arms and Jack closes his eyes for a moment as the major picks her up, then slowly rises and follows them into the little house, the other officer trailing silently behind him.

Jack enters the room, pitch-black until his eyes adjust to the dim light, and is able to make out another airman standing watch beside a narrow infirmary bed which had been salvaged from the ship. Even though his head is spinning, he feels the entire universe grind to a halt as he recognizes the slight form beneath the sheet. From where he stands and despite the low light Jack can see the labored rise and fall of her chest and he sucks in a breath as if he's breathing for both of them. "Oh, Sam," he says, his voice cracking as he reaches the bed and sees her frightfully pale face, her lips a bluish tinge. He takes her hand and brings it to his face, cupping the slim, cold, unresponsive fingers around his cheek. "My God," he exclaims, "What's wrong with her?"

"She says its prion disease, sir," the woman speaks up for the first time.

"She refuses to let Dr. Kent treat her." Smith says, "Because it's fatal and it would be a _waste_ of medication." Jack can't miss the bitterness in the major's voice and he remembers hearing that exact tone from Sam when she confronted him in his office. Smith is pissed as hell at her for choosing to die on him.

Jack will never tell him where she learned that trick.

"Go get Kent," Jack says, getting down on one knee, his free hand reaching up to cradle her face, "Tell him to bring every goddamn thing he needs right away." The female officer disappears.

A wave of fatigue and despair crashes over Jack and he lays his head down on the pillow next to hers, his face buried in her hair, his hand stroking her clammy forehead. He doesn't give a damn what Smith thinks or that she hasn't seen him in two years, for him it's only been days and probably wouldn't matter if it had been decades. He's loved her when she wasn't his and when she was and it's never made any difference to his heart before.

He can hear Smith behind him, talking in low comforting tones to the baby and a pure, deep jealously curls up in the pit of his stomach like a poison, followed by a rush of shame. They don't deserve this- he's the one who does. Grant Smith has no explaining to do because the reasons for Sam's choices are all too clear and numerous and any one will do. She'd lost her faith in him, because he'd left her and all the crew on this godforsaken planet. She'd come to believe he'd forgotten the starry skies of P3X-124 and she'd found some one who hadn't. He'd lost hope, had not kept his promise after all. Pick any one, he thinks. They're all valid reasons for her to write him off and turn to someone else. Someone who worships the ground she walks on and isn't afraid to show it.

The door opens, painful sunlight pouring in along with the doctor and his entourage. Jack gets to his feet and steps back to let them in next to the bedside. "There's a cure for this, Dr. Kent. I just need to get her home."

"Yes, sir." Kent swiftly places an oxygen mask over her drawn, pale face as the nurse slides an IV into Sam's arm and she doesn't even flinch. "You don't know how happy we are to see you."

"Oh, I can guess," Jack sweeps his gaze around the little house. "But it's only a guess." After all, he and Sam hadn't been abandoned on the planet for two years.

The nurse hangs an IV bag, thumbing the line wide open and Jack remembers Sam literally crying in this very room because she didn't have the same simple tool to help him. Then the doctor reads her EKG and injects two different medicines into the line, and Jack realizes that although the crew has been here two years, there are many more things they've had to make it better that he and Sam hadn't had. Besides the ship with all of her supplies, the survivors have also benefited from the overlapping support of the entire talented crew, and that thought assuages his guilt. He looks around for Grant and the baby, but they're not here. Probably a smart move given her mother has become a pincushion of sorts. "Any other casualties, Doctor?"

"None but the deceased," the doctor says grimly.

Jack can't deal with that particular statistic now, as he desperately focuses on keeping the toll from rising by one more. Kent surveys her heart monitor with a satisfied nod as space appears between the rapid-fire spikes on the screen and Jack takes some solace from that. "Can she be moved?"

The doctor shakes his head. Jack nods thoughtfully. "And I guess the stargate doesn't work at all now."

"The binary collapsed faster than predicted," a voice states from the doorway. "The gravitational pull permanently disrupted spacetime around the wormhole." Jack turns around and hearing an echo of Carter in the officer's voice finally makes the connection.

"Lieutenant Hailey." Jack says.

"Major, General." Hailey points out proudly.

"No, Lieutenant General."

She looks puzzled, then her eyes dart to his nametag and she smiles sheepishly. "Yes, of course, sir."

"Who's been in command here, Major?"

"Smith," Hailey says without hesitation.

"All right. Think you can remember how to fly a 302, Hailey?" Jack says knowing there's no possible way Jennifer Hailey would ever say "no."

"Absolutely, sir."

Jack always knew there was an adrenaline junky inside that size 4 uniform. "You need to fly back to my rendezvous point and meet up with Teal'c and his al'kesh there, then bring him here. It's not far and the coordinates are in the computer."

"Yes, sir."

"Tell Smith to get back here, and then head out."

The major turns on her heel and very nearly sprints out of the room. In a few seconds Major Smith is back, with the baby on his hip as if they've both been waiting just outside the door like Hailey had been, and Jack suddenly realizes what he stumbled onto today. This is a death vigil.

His blood runs cold at the thought and he turns back to Sam. It might be his imagination but at least she looks more comfortable. He can't see her face well under the plastic of the mask, but her breathing seems less desperate and picking up her hand, he notices her fingertips are pink now. And then they curl around his palm, and he gasps at her touch. He kneels back down by the head of the bed, strong, capable fingers gently cupping her chin, and he turns her face to his. "Sam," he whispers, in a low and broken voice, pleading with all the powers that be to just let her open her eyes.

And she does. Jet black lashes flutter open just above the clinical green of the mask, her eyes slowly focusing in on his and there's a muffled whisper only he can hear, only meant for him. "Jack?" Her gaze traces across his careworn expression and she shakes her head as if her heart is unwilling to take the chance that any of this is real, as if she is also afraid to hope.

He doesn't answer her, his voice locked somewhere deep within his chest as he bends over her and gathers her up in his arms, pulling her to him, his face buried deep in long blonde hair, his lips parted against her skin. And then Jack O'Neill cries for the first time in fifteen years.

He holds her close as she matches him tear for tear and she desperately pushes the mask away, needing him more than she needs air to breathe, pressing her face against his neck, her hands weakly clenching the front of his flight suit as if she's terrified of losing him again. "Samantha," is all he can say, repeating the word as he strokes her hair, his voice splintering from the feelings he can't control anymore and he doesn't even know why he ever tried. He wants to ask her if it's theoretically possible to be this happy and have his heart break at the same time, but all that he can manage are the shattered breaths that echo across the silent room over the steady reassuring beeps of the monitor. Jack would stay like this with her forever if he could, but it dawns on him that it's probably better for her not to be smashed against his chest and gradually he lays her back down on the bed again, brushing her hair back and finally risking a smile. Maybe her cheeks are hollow and tight and maybe her flawless skin has taken a beating from the weather on this godforsaken planet but Jack doesn't see any of it- only her eyes, vivid blue like the sky in the small square window above the bed, and her legendary smile.

Something moves beside the bed and hearing the sound of much tinier tears, he finally looks away from Sam long enough to locate the source. "Hey, hey…" he gently says to the worried toddler at his side. "I'm not hurting your mommy, I promise."

The little girl's eyes are suspicious and wide as she keeps her distance from this stranger sitting on her mothers bed and tries without success to climb up, little sobs wracking her tiny body. Grant moves to take her away and let Sam rest.

"Let her stay," Dr. Kent gently orders as he replaces the useless mask with an oxygen cannula around Sam's face. Hoisting her on to the bed, Jack touches Sam's child for the first time and there's something so intimate and familiar in the movement that the doctor has to turn away and rub his eyes while a nurse helps Sam sit up just a little bit, tucking pillows underneath the sharp outlines of her shoulder blades.

"I see you've met." Sam manages to whisper with a weak but heartfelt smile. The girl stops sniffling as soon as she 's in her mother's arms, and Sam pauses a moment to wipe her own eyes before turning to Jack with a look that he has to admit seems like fear.

Well, you're not the only one, he thinks. He looks at them, mirror images, one big and one small and finally finds the courage to ask, "What's her name?"

"Hope," the little girl says, looking disapprovingly at Jack.

The significance of her name isn't lost on Jack, but for the moment he's simply stunned by her understanding and clear speech. The child is definitely her mother's daughter. "You're a smart little thing, aren't you?"

"I think so," Sam says, her voice weak but clear. Her eyes lock briefly with his, and it's hard for Jack not to notice how nervous she is as she quickly turns away to smile at the little girl. "Who am I?"

"Mommy," she says, beaming happily as if this one is just too easy. She hugs Sam hard around the neck, obviously quite glad to have her mother all to herself again. Sam plants a kiss on the top of the little blonde head and Jack thinks he has never seen a more heartbreakingly beautiful sight in all his life.

"Right," Sam answers firmly, as if it's the one thing in the world of which she's certain at this moment in time. "And who's that?" she says, avoiding Jack's eyes and pointing instead to Major Smith. Jack holds his breath.

"Smith!" Hope replies, kicking her legs, rapidly becoming a bit bored by the game.

"And who's this?" Sam says, patting Jack on the chest, finally meeting his eyes with a clear look. He wonders if she can feel his heart pounding beneath her palm. Or maybe it has just stopped entirely.

"Daddy," the little girl scowls at him, then adds, "Go away."

Once again he feels his whole life pivot on this tiny room in this little hut on this deserted rock at the edge of the Milky Way. And Jack O'Neill laughs for the first time in fifteen years.

------------------------------------------------------

The other survivors of the _George Hammond's_ crew discreetly excuse themselves, finally leaving Jack alone with the woman he thought he'd lost and the baby he never knew he had. Having quickly overcome her dislike of Jack once she made the connection between him and the brave, handsome officer who had been featured in her bedtime stories for as long as she could remember, Hope lies sleeping contentedly on her father's chest. His right hand cradles her head protectively while his left intertwines with Sam's, and she examines his hand, tracing over every finger, remembering every line and quirky turn, secure in the strength of his grasp. "You figured it out," she whispers.

"I didn't," he says, too afraid to even consider how impulsive and accidental the actions were that led him here. "I don't how I ended up here."

"I don't know how we did, either," she admits, holding his fingers to her lips, snuggling against his arm. "You found us anyway." Then she sighs and within seconds she's asleep, too. After a few moments, Jack carefully extricates his hand from hers and reluctantly leans forward, tilting Hope into his large, steady grip and then lies her alongside Sam. He watches them for a moment, pledging to keep them out of harm's way whether they like it or not for as long as his heart beats. And maybe even after that.

There's a quiet knock on the door and it opens, the brilliant white light pouring into the room momentarily before it's suddenly eclipsed by someone's massive form.

"Teal'c," Jack says with relief, although he's not surprised that Teal'c was at the rendezvous point earlier than planned.

The imposing alien steps into the little room, hunching slightly to get through the doorway and Jack is glad Hope is asleep. Sometimes Teal'c still scares even him. Dr. Kent follows him in and quietly shuts the door.

"Colonel Carter?" Teal'c queries anxiously.

"Nice to see you, too," Jack chides him gently, and then stands up from the chair beside her bed. Teal'c grins and crossing the room in two strides crushes Jack in his bearish hold before turning to the two sleeping soundly in the hospital bed.

"She's much better, but it's not gonna last," Jack points out what they already know. The three of them stand watching Sam and Hope until finally Teal'c says, "She looks like you."

"You're kidding!" Jack scoffs, keeping his voice low. "Wait until you see her eyes."

Kent snorts. "Oh, please, General. It's so obvious." Jack sincerely wishes that it had been, but he just doesn't see it. Of course, it's not as though he spends much time looking in the mirror.

"And she's so- _tiny_." Jack finally voices his concern. He'd always expected his and Sam's kids would be big. Way off the charts, actually. Not that he really expected any kids, he reminds himself and once again the stunning newness of the situation hits him and he draws in a deep breath.

Dr. Kent shakes his head dismissively. "It's this place, sir. We're all hanging on by a thread. I expect she'll grow like a weed when you get her home."

_Get her home_. Jack likes the sound of that. "Well, then, Doc," he says with a determined look, "let's get the hell out of Dodge." This time, Kent nods in agreement as he surveys the apparently reassuring vital signs on the monitors. Jack quickly motions Teal'c to come with him as he steps outside the door and into the searing daylight, shading his eyes with his hand and he hopes Hailey didn't lose the sunglasses he'd left in the 302. He hates it when people borrow his ride. "Smith is handling evac. priorities. How many people can that al'kesh hold?"

"If we do not take the 302, the vessel will hold fifty people."

"All right." A fleeting look of concern passes over Jack's face, and Teal'c grabs Jack's shoulder.

"I will not let them out of my sight, O'Neill."

Jack knows that with Teal'c, that phrase isn't only a figure of speech. He sighs deeply and wonders just exactly when this job is going to stop ripping his heart to shreds on a regular basis. "I know, Teal'c. Thank you."

Hailey and Smith show up just then. "Sir," Smith says, "We've got the first fifty ready to go. With your permission, I'd like to stay here with the last of my crew."

Jack smiles at the major, so willing to put his needs dead last if he has to. "No, you run along with Teal'c, now. Hailey and I will hold down the fort."

"Yes sir," Smith nods, and turns to leave.

"I- we owe you one, Major." Jack adds. Smith looks back with a smile and then walks off toward the waiting space ship.

Jack and Teal'c return to the house, and picking up a stretcher Teal'c had deposited by the front door, re-enter quietly. Jack would like nothing more than to get them on that ship without waking her up, not so that they can rest but because he can't take another separation, another good-bye. He carefully steps up to the bed, gently brushing the back of his fingers against Sam's cheek, "Sam? It's time to go."

She turns her head just a little, following his touch, then her eyes open as his words sink in. "You're coming, too." It's not a question.

"I have to stay just a while longer." Jack says softly. She looks up with an expression of fatigue, pain and resignation. He recognizes the look because it's what's in his heart, too- and he's felt that way so often over the last decade that he's bone-deep sick of it. Tears silently seep from the corners of her eyes as he breaks away from her gaze, stroking Hope's silky straight hair, clenching his jaw to keep from breaking down again. The baby sighs in her sleep and turns her face toward him and then he can't look at her any more, either, and he closes his eyes. "No more, Sam. This is it."

"There's so much we have to figure out…" her voice trails off and she shakes her head.

What else is new, Jack wonders bitterly. "Just a couple more days." He kisses her gently on the forehead, lingering there for a short, sweet moment, then he motions Teal'c over and they and Dr. Kent get Sam and the sleeping baby onto the stretcher.

It's a short walk over to the waiting al'kesh and Jack watches tensely as they're ringed aboard. As soon as they're gone Teal'c turns to him with a serious look. "The _Apollo_ will arrive soon, O'Neill."

"The _Apollo_? I would have thought Atlantis would be back out in Pegasus and she'd be on her regular runs."

"I am sorry, O'Neill." Teal'c shakes his head grimly, stepping forward before the rings come down again. "In your absence, we lost Atlantis."

TBC………….


	7. Reverse Butterfly

A couple of people have wondered why Jack and the boys didn't think of P3X-124 sooner- the answer is in this chapter. And only a week went by until Jack was forced to abandon the search so there wasn't time to think about what they'd missed.

* * *

_It's a short walk over to the waiting al'kesh and Jack watches tensely as they're ringed aboard. As soon as they're gone Teal'c turns to him with a serious look. "The __Apollo will arrive soon, O'Neill."_

_"The __Apollo? I would have thought Atlantis would be back out in Pegasus and she'd be on her regular runs."_

_"I am sorry, O'Neill." Teal'c shakes his head grimly, stepping forward before the rings come down again. "In your absence, we lost Atlantis."_

_-------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
_

O'Neill watches the glittering al'kesh clear the treetops and even though he's standing in the middle of a quiet, sunbaked meadow he feels his only real source of tranquility and light slip away with the ship. He's more dependent on her, on _them_, than he ever realized and something in the back of his mind tells him that even finding Sam alive isn't going to set things right this time. Not this time.

But right now he doesn't even have time to get his mind around the problem as he turns back to the village and immediately tracks down Major Hailey who is busy rechecking the passenger list for the Apollo. "They're all healthy adult crewman, sir. Anyone needing medical attention was evacuated, as were any children and their parents. And your family, of course."

_My family_. He hasn't thought of himself as a family man in well over a decade and it's more than a little overwhelming to have to deal with that thought at the same time as he has to worry about said family being packed off and sent into outer space without him. And that's just the start of his troubles. Wearily, O'Neill nods in recognition of Hailey's hard work and then sits down in the shade of a building, motioning Jennifer down beside him.

"Tell me what you know about Atlantis," he asks, certain that the first thing out of Major Hailey's mouth upon meeting Teal'c was, "What'd I miss?" Probably even before "hello."

"Not much to say, sir," she says matter-of-factly though her eyes carry a more troubled look. "The IOA couldn't agree where on earth Atlantis should be because it possessed weapons."

"No shit, it possessed weapons." O'Neill says, shaking his head, "That was the _point_." He puts his head back against the wall and stares at the azure sky, so bright it hurts his eyes. He can't believe the nations of earth would be squabbling about that kind of thing when there were much bigger issues at hand. Like the existence of the human race.

"They also blamed the Atlantis gate for the problems with the gate at the SGC, so they returned it to Pegasus shortly after the attacks." She flips down the pages of the ship's manifest and tucks it away in a dog-eared notebook.

"You sound like you don't approve of their reasoning there, either."

"I think it sucked, sir." Hailey shrugs. "They didn't look hard enough. I know what caused the gate malfunction."

"Oh?" He'd forgotten about Hailey's supersized ego.

"We did. Colonel Carter and I. We tried to dial in but the wormhole was increasingly unstable with every passing day. At the very least they should have wondered at the _pattern_ of the malfunction." She puts her head back against the wall, too.

Her words are like a blow to the gut as he realizes Sam had been sending what amounted to an SOS that no one had heard. "We saw it. _I_ saw it," O'Neill says quietly, shaking his head. "I wondered what was up with the gate, and then I let it drop."

"With all due respect, sir, you're not a gate technician or an astrophysicist." Hailey points out and then moves on without another thought about it. "It's a little hard for me to figure out what happened based on Teal'c's understanding of Earth politics, but it sounds like Woolsey had to take an inexperienced crew to return the city to Pegasus and they miscalculated the wormhole drive. Ended up in the middle of a supernova."

He winces. "McKay and Zelenka wouldn't have made that mistake."

"The IOA probably considered Icarus a priority and I'm guessing that's where they were instead. Not that there's much they could do with a smoking crater in the ground."

Regret wells up again and O'Neill forgets military decorum just for a moment, confessing to the major, "Damn. I should have stuck around. Maybe I could've made them get their collective heads out of their asses."

"You saved us instead, sir. Those could be mutually incompatible occurrences."

"You've been spending too much time around Carter to make any sense, Hailey."

Hailey gives him a sly grin. "Colonel Carter is the best I've ever served under, General," O'Neill just smiles and lets the backhanded insult slide. "And a damn good mother too, in my inexpert opinion."

"I'm sure she is," he says, a little defensively, which feels totally weird considering whom they're discussing.

"Well, just so you know. As for _you_, sir, if you'd stayed and fought the IOA, you probably wouldn't be here. And I, for one, am glad that you are." Having said her piece in the way that only Jennifer Hailey can, she gets to her feet, dusts off her backside and motions toward the center of the village where the last of the survivors are gathering. "If I may, sir…"

Hailey takes a few steps away and then stops. "Permission to speak freely, sir."

"Sure," he shrugs.

She hesitates, and then confides, "I used to be so jealous of Carter being the first, being on SG-1."

"I know," O'Neill replies wryly, but he sits up a bit, a hint of interest evident in his slouch.

"Not any more." Hailey shakes her head firmly. "With all due respect sir, it messed you guys up."

_You don't know the half of it_, he thinks, but he only nods silently.

"Even Colonel Carter- with all that time travel, the other realities- she lost her objectivity. Always worried about the impact SG-1 might have, the consequences of your actions."

"The butterfly effect," O'Neill says, shading his eyes to better see her face.

."Yes. But she forgot about the flip side of that- the random crap that has nothing whatsoever to do with SG-1 and yet affects your future. She forgot about the _other_ butterflies."

He rolls that around in his head for a while. "So- there's a theoretical foundation for the phrase 'Shit happens.'?"

"Precisely, sir." Hailey nods emphatically and then directs her attention to the breast pocket of her BDU jacket, "Oh, I also found these." She bends down and hands him his sunglasses. "Maybe things will be a little clearer now." Then she walks off to attend to the remaining evacuees.

-----------------------------

In the cool darkness of the little house he stands uncertainly, wondering if he should be poking around in Sam's personal stuff like this- but he doesn't want to leave anything behind and he has no clue about what's important. He runs his hand down the rough length of the mantelpiece, lost in memories of their time here alone- but conscious of the fact that in the last few hours those thoughts have changed to sweet from bittersweet and he wonders why he gets a third chance at happiness with Sam.

Jack stops in front of his picture resting there on the mantel and he realizes with rising curiosity that this isn't the one she took to Atlantis, the one he'd last seen in Colorado Springs before all hell broke loose. Well, during a calm interlude _while_ all hell was breaking loose. He takes the picture in his hands and racks his brain to recall where he'd seen it before. It's much newer than the one Sam had and the frame is different. Unable to place it, he lays it on a stack of worn notebooks and her computer, and just before he wraps the entire stack up in a piece of cloth that looks like it once might have been a t-shirt, all the pieces fall into place.

_Opening the door, he finds his picture has accidentally fallen from its position next to George Hammond's and lays on the floor, the glass cracked, Carter nowhere to be seen. He picks up the photo with a sigh and walks over to Major Ramirez's desk, setting it facedown on the blotter. She'll get it fixed without a question. But knowing Ramirez, she'd have it all figured out without having to ask….._

"_Thank you for fixing the present, by the way," she says._

"_No problem. You might have to give it a bit harder whack to get the same effect, though."_

"_I already did," she laughs, a little self-consciously. "Sorry about that."_

"_You did? Wait, I didn't want to miss that ceremony." Crap, that's two big events he's missed this week alone, O'Neill realizes….._

"_And who's this?" Sam says, patting Jack on the chest, finally meeting his eyes with a clear look._

"_Daddy," the little girl scowls at him. "Go away."_

"Ramirez." Jack shakes his head in amazement, and it comforts him to know she's probably spent the last couple of years safe and sound behind a desk. But the random way something he and Sam had broken in a fight ended up being the glue that held them together makes his head spin. "Butterflies," he sighs. "We've had a whole flock of 'em today."

-----------------------------------------

In two days the remaining survivors arrive at Area 51 and are transferred to Walter Reed, placing O'Neill back in the exobiology department he'd left only two weeks earlier. Or two years earlier, depending upon one's point of view, he keeps reminding himself. He can't tell if the staff looks a little older or if they've just been worn down a little by the events of the past two years, but it seems like something has taken its toll. He'll find out about all that soon enough- but first things first. "Where's Colonel Carter?" he asks the aide as soon as his Ramirez-clone of a nurse has left the room.

"Two rooms down and on the left, but I can't let you up, sir."

"Aw come on, when's the last time you got to see a Lieutenant General walk down the hall bare-footed and bare-assed?" O'Neill asks, gathering his hospital gown around him as best he can with one hand while the other grabs the IV pole.

"Far too often, Sir," the burly aide says, unimpressed.

While he studies the young orderly, O'Neill takes the time to pull some boxers on under the gown. "Okay, how about a spin on an F302 next time I'm in one?"

"Deal." The aide says, stepping aside. Little does he know that it'll be a cold day in hell before O'Neill ever sets foot in an F302 again. He looks both ways up and down the hall before scurrying down two rooms and peering in the open door to find Carter sitting up on the bed, looking like her usual gorgeous self, and his heart skips a beat.

"Carter," he says a little self-consciously. It's not the most romantic reunion he could imagine but he can't wait until he can get his pants back on. Which, it occurs to him, could have made for a damned romantic reunion in another setting.

"Hello, sir," she smiles back at him, unsuccessfully suppressing a smirk.

"Um, you _could_ invite me in," he says uncomfortably, sneaking another glance down the hallway.

"I don't know, sir. This is the most entertainment I've had in months."

He raises his eyebrows in exasperation and she gives him a sweet smile and finally nods, allowing him to slip in and shut the door behind him. "Where's Hope?"

That same indulgent little smile widens just a bit. "She was cleared and I didn't want her around this germ-ridden place- she just got her first set of shots, you know?- so I asked Major Smith to take her home. Though there was quite a fight between him and Daniel."

O'Neill sees the logic in her decision but still feels a huge sense of disappointment and a flash of jealousy. Focusing intently on wheeling his recalcitrant IV pole into the room, he hides his expression carefully. "You're gonna have some making up to do, there," he warns her with forced cheerfulness.

"He forgives me already," Sam says fondly.

O'Neill finally looks up to soak in the welcome, beautiful sight of her. "Yeah. Who wouldn't?" She blushes and looks down at the sheets, picking at some imagined bit of fluff as he busily deposits himself in the chair beside her bed, then turns to her, concern replacing his smile. She looks almost too good to be true and experience tells him that's often the case with Carter. "You okay?"

"Fine. The enzyme infusion stopped the prions. And even though prion disease is endemic in the food chain on P3X-124 very few of the crew were even infected, much less symptomatic." She nods with satisfaction and Jack guesses what she just said must be good.

"Why were _you_ so sick, then?" he muses, "Dr. Taylor was sure you didn't get it the first time around."

"I was more vulnerable than everyone else," she replies.

For a moment he doesn't understand what made her situation different, and then it dawns on him. "Oh," he says as he realizes she's talking about her pregnancy. "And that's all- you're okay now?"

"I just have to stay on these pills until the brain cells recover," she says with a shrug.

"Well, you've got plenty to spare. Me, I'm in more dire straits."

She looks at him with alarm. "You didn't get the infusion until just now?"

Oh crap, O'Neill thinks. She wasn't supposed to know that. "I'm not risking the wrath of Nurse Ratchet to come over here and talk about _me_, Carter," he says, quickly devising a distraction. "I want to know how you ended up on P3X-124."

She narrows her eyes suspiciously but allows him to redirect the conversation anyway, and her gaze drifts from his face to some distant point that only she can see. "The evac coordinates weren't in the computer, and I only had seconds to get out."

He wraps his hand around hers, trying to comfort her in the face of an obviously painful memory. "I know," he says quietly, "fucking Central Computing."

A thin smile forms on her lips as she squeezes his fingers reprovingly. After two years stranded on a deserted planet, Samantha Carter still does not swear. "I had spent so many nights there memorizing that sky and turning the coordinates around in my head that they've been imprinted in there ever since. So I punched them into the nav. computer and Smith put it in high gear. I thought the gate would work at least well enough to send a message, but I could never get it to engage."

"Hailey told me. It was a good idea, Sam."

"I don't know, Jack, I just don't know…. I tried for months, but..." Sam closes her eyes in despair. O'Neill knows exactly what she's thinking because it's the nature of an officer to take the responsibility for everything, even shortsighted computer techs, broken stargates and inhospitable planets. He had done it himself on the other end of the wormhole. But never in his life had he been in a situation like hers.

"Sam, what you had to do… alone."

"I was hardly alone, sir," she bristles and he catches the same tone from her as he'd heard from Hailey the day before, knowing he'll never really understand what any of them went through on that planet. But damned if he isn't going to try.

"You know what I mean. The baby, the command…" his voice falters, inadequate to express his thoughts. He's always known how strong, smart and capable she is but this is almost past imagining and all he can do is to watch her with an overwhelming sense of gratitude and sympathy as she shakes her head as if to rid herself of some awful memory. O'Neill resolves himself to hear about every single one, in time. "Sam, look at me," he demands gently, and after a moment she complies, her eyes filled with tears. "We didn't attack Icarus, and we didn't fail to program the computer."

She looks at him doubtfully.

"God, Sam. These people are alive. You're alive. Hope is alive. What more do you want?"

She laughs a harsh and broken laugh, a kind he's never heard from her before. "I gave up."

"No, _I_ gave up."

"Did you?"

"What do you mean?"

"You should be dead, Jack. But you're not. And of a hundred lovely planets with terrific beaches, you decided to visit _that_ godforsaken spot?"

"I went there to die," he finally admits, "not go on vacation. Don't give credit where credit isn't due." Sam's the genius who'd had the map to P3X-124 in her head, he reasons. He had wound up there by luck- because the boys and he had only thought about coordinates she might have seen on a ship's computer- not the ones she'd computed out herself. They'd tried to think like Sam, all right. And they'd failed.

She shakes her head. "I know things- but you _understand_ them. And I think you understood how to find me, even if you didn't know it."

"I don't _understand_ a single thing you just said."

"That's what you always say when you're tired of hearing me talk," she says, laying her head back against the pillow and finally allowing herself a genuine smile.

"Oh, I _love_ to hear you talk, Carter. My mind tends to wander, though."

She tilts her head curiously.

"Especially when I know you're in bed half-naked," he admits, "Although I feel like kind of a perv, considering the hospital gown and all."

Instead of smiling at his innuendo, her eyes register astonishment, her cheeks flushing crimson and Jack feels almost the same shock himself, suddenly realizing that he doesn't have any idea what happened on that planet and although Hope is his, it doesn't mean Sam still is, too. Instantly remorseful at his rush to track her down in the middle of their chaotic arrival home, he once again feels he's strayed uncomfortably close to being a Pete, believing what he wants to believe without any regard for Sam's feelings. "God, Sam, I'm sorry," he says, taking his hand from her arm, giving her back her space. _What an idiot you are, O'Neill_.

"It's all right," she says softly.

"Is it?" he asks, returning her steady gaze.

She pauses for a moment, considering her reply. "It will be. You take some getting used to, Jack O'Neill."

He nods thoughtfully and then gets to his feet, regretting the indignity of his attire, but she doesn't seem to notice as her eyes are fixed on his face. "You said Hope was at home."

"Yes."

"Where would that be?"

"Perhaps the prions affected you more than Dr. Taylor thought, sir," she says, the glimmer he'd been missing finally returning to her eyes, "If you can't even remember where you live."

----------------------------------------------

Everything about Washington looks reassuringly familiar, the congested streets of the city and the calm, green suburbs and Jack is glad that 99.9% of their inhabitants are both ignorant of and safe from the perils of the stargate. The other .1% hasn't tracked him down yet and if they could mind the shop without him for two years they could do it for a few more days as far as he's concerned. The driver lets him out and he waves away the airman's assistance, anxious to get up the sidewalk and into the house without any unnecessary distractions.

Setting his duffle bag down inside the house, he remembers the last time he was here and it doesn't look like anything has changed at all, though he hopes Smith was smart enough not to open the fridge without HAZMAT gear. The curtains are pulled back, the windows are open and there's a bright, sparkling sound that he hasn't heard in years coming from the tiny back yard. After the tragedy and despair of the past two weeks he's afraid to move, afraid to find out he's only in some virtual reality where it's possible to be happy and not have people he cares about die or disappear. Then the sound comes again and he manages to follow it through the living room, into the kitchen and out onto the graceful brick patio to find the most real thing in his life playing with a bottle of bubbles.

"She's never seen these before, you know." Sam says, smiling radiantly right before she purses her perfect lips, lips he's missed so much and can't wait to feel on his skin. The rays of the setting sun flicker through her nearly waist-length hair, bleached lighter than his by the sun on another planet and he dreams of gathering it up, weaving it through his fingers, wrapping it around his hands, holding her. She blows another iridescent stream of bubbles into the still air of the yard and his gaze follows their lazy path over to Hope, who shrieks with delight every time one disappears on her fingertips. Guarding his expression and protecting his heart he lingers back in the shadows of the porch and watches them play, not making a move to join in because he's pretty sure Sam needs this as much as Hope.

Finally tiring of the game, the toddler's attention is snagged by the sight of an insect crawling through the grass, and Sam puts away the bubbles with a relieved sigh, while Hope launches into an animated discussion of her new interest, the only intelligible word being "bug."

"She's exhausting." Sam says, leaning back on the antique iron bench. "She's into everything and I can't understand most of what she says."

"Now you know how I feel being around you," Jack grins, finally sitting down beside her.

She gives him a sidelong smile and returns her gaze to their daughter who's now poking the bug with a twig. "You know, I'll be really upset if she decides to be a biologist." Sam's fingers lace through his and the casual way she does it is a reassuring thrill for Jack.

"She can do whatever she wants," he pronounces. Sam presses her lips together to hide an amused smile and shakes her head, but he doesn't care. He fully intends to spoil them both rotten from now on. "In fact, you should see the cool stuff I brought home."

"Really?" she says, mildly alarmed.

"No ponies or dogs, I swear," he assures her, and then quietly adds, "Not yet." And then he gets up to listen to Hope tell him all about the bug.

They play for a few minutes more as the sun slips behind the trees and the air chills. "It's odd." Sam says, " I forgot the sun would set and it might get cool out here. I don't even know where her sweaters are."

Jack notices an uncomfortable edge of bewilderment to her voice. "It's okay," he says, scooping Hope off of the ground in a way that makes her forget all about the bug. "We'll just go inside."

"Jack, she's been on P3X-124. A little evening air isn't going to hurt her."

"I don't know- Alexandria is a pretty rough town at night," he warns as he turns to carry a yawning Hope inside the house. "You never know when a stray frisbee could land in the back yard."

-----------------------------

After clearing away the remnants of dinner Sam finds him watching Hope as she sleeps, both mesmerized and memorizing as he tries to absorb every little detail. "Looks like Jade Gardens take-out agrees with her after all," Sam says quietly, coming up beside him.

"Hey, at least I made sure it was MSG-free." Jack points out. He's not going to get worked up over whether a toddler can have sweet and sour sauce when there are goa'uld and black holes just a few light-years away. His eyes focus on Hope but he feels an entirely different kind of sensation radiating from the woman beside him and experimentally he slips his arm around her waist, pulling her in closer. He's encouraged by the fact that there's no resistance, just her soft, warm body melding into his.

"She'll still be there in the morning," Sam gently teases him.

"Normally, I'd say that's true, but this is _us_ we're talking about."

"Yes," Sam says, laying her head against his shoulder. "It certainly is."

Jack remembers back years ago when she first set foot in this house and promptly turned him into a pile of sentimental mush and he figures this time it's no different. She's been able to do that to him since he first laid eyes on her and now that he has to deal with her little clone, too, he knows he's a goner. There's just one thing he wants to know before he throws himself off the edge. There's no such thing as accidents when Sam Carter is in charge.

Leading her away from the crib and out in the hallway, he shuts the door softly and then turns to her, a slight smile playing across his lips. "You've got some explaining to do," he says gently as they walk carefully down the hallway. "I'd kind of given up hope, you know. No pun intended."

She smiles guiltily as they sit down on the edge of the couch in the front room. "I do know, Jack, but I wasn't even sure it would work out."

"I'm traditional sort of guy, _Miss _Carter," he says, holding up the barren fingers of her left hand. "It just would have been nice to keep me in the loop." Plus, he thinks, he'd have been very happy to try a little harder to make sure it _did_ work out- hell he'd have scheduled it in. Meet with the President. Call the Pentagon. Get Carter pregnant.

He doubts even Ramirez has run across a to-do list like _that._

But his teasing smile fades at the vulnerable look in her eyes as she very quietly explains, "I didn't want to disappoint you if it didn't happen."

Jack looks down for a minute, as if searching for the pieces of his heart lying scattered on the floor. "You'll never know," he says, his voice faltering under the weight of his emotions, "how much it means to me that you'd even want to try."

Sam sighs and nods slightly, but his words don't seem to reassure her very much, and she haltingly continues. "That was when I first got back from Atlantis, Jack- then everything changed. I got command of the Hammond, the Wraith came and I…" She stops and gives him that plaintive look again, unable to continue.

"What?" he asks gently.

"I didn't want to disappoint you if it _did_ happen."

For all of these years he had thought she was trying to find a balance in her life, to satisfy the different sides of her personality- the woman and the soldier. It had never occurred to him that she was also trying to find a way to satisfy the different sides of him, too. He combs her hair back from her face, weaving his fingers through it just like in his earlier fantasy, and just like then he doesn't let go. "Believe me, Sam," he whispers hoarsely, but straight from the heart, "you could never let me down."

She nods, her eyes glistening the dim light and he stops the trembling in her lips with a caress from his own. Her kiss is tentative and the thought that she hasn't felt him this close in two years gives him an unexpected charge of excitement. But he understands it has to be her timing, at her pace and summoning up will power he didn't think he had he backs off, loosening his grip just a little, giving her the option to quit.

But she doesn't take it, her soft lips parting as her mouth explores his- slow, careful and sweet. His heart pounds in his ears while the rest of him remains completely still because he can't trust himself to move as she deepens the kiss and his chest tightens, fighting back a groan of pure pleasure. Just when he thinks he can't take any more, she releases him with a sigh and lays her head down against his shoulder. "Thank you," she whispers and then gets up, moves out of his sight and in a few seconds he hears the bedroom door shut.

Jack lays his head back against the couch and tries his best to understand. They haven't had a chance to talk about her years on P3X-124 and what went through his mind the few days she was gone. Wearily, Jack stands and turns out all the lights, then makes his way down the hallway, stopping in front of the spare-bedroom-turned-nursery, his hand flat against the wooden door. He just wants to slip inside, to wrap her in his arms and listen to Hope's noisy baby sleep until they fall asleep themselves. But if all she needs is to sleep in a real bed, free from responsibility, secure in his house and in his heart, then that's exactly what he'll give her.

He turns away and opens the door to his room, carelessly pulling off his clothes and tossing them in the side chair, too wound up to sleep or to read the stacks of updates he knows are lurking in his office down the hall. Then he climbs into bed, stretching out between the cool sheets alongside one very warm, slender body.

"I guess she snores," he says casually.

"Terribly," she agrees, her voice smooth across his ear. "She gets that from her dad."

TBC.....


	8. Breakers

Just a point of protocol for those who care- you don't have to be dead to have a ship named after you! I also put the finishing touches on this around Father's Day so forgive me if it gets a little sappy in some spots. There's an "M" rated spot after the part about the toes (don't go thinking it's THAT kinky, please!) to the next break.

* * *

_He turns away and opens the door to his room, carelessly pulling off his clothes and tossing them in the side chair, too wound up to sleep or to read the stacks of updates he knows are lurking in his office down the hall. Then he climbs into bed, stretching out between the cool sheets alongside one very warm, slender body._

"_I guess she snores," he says casually._

"_Terribly," she agrees, her voice smooth across his ear. "She gets that from her dad."_

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hailey was right that being on SG-1 had messed them up, Jack reflects. He's sure any other guy wouldn't question the motives of a beautiful woman whom he loves and happens to be in his bed, but just like they're not normal parents, they're not normal lovers, either. She could be possessed, infected or traumatized. Hell, she could just be tired beyond belief. He rolls onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow and looks at her, after his eyes adjust to the dark, her fine features outlined by the moonlight, her eyes too shadowed to discern. Dying to get his hands on her, he brushes her hair off of her face, figuring that'd be a safe place to start. "Is she going to be okay without you?" he asks, figuring that'd be a safe question to ask.

"Hope sleeps like the dead, and Hailey and Smith were here with her for a few days."

Jack doesn't like hearing that name in this room. He doesn't like being reminded of the fact that the man's been in his house and he doesn't even want to think about where else Smith has been. He watches single strands of glowing hair fall through his fingers. "Listen, Goldilocks," he says lightly, trying to cover his jealousy, "I think I've read about the three bears one too many times lately, 'cause I've got a question…"

"No one's been sleeping in your bed," she finishes the thought for him, not a trace of teasing in her voice.

"Including the one on P3X-124?" He's not sure if he has the right to ask that, but at this point he just doesn't care. And as soon as the justice of the peace opens his doors in the morning he swears he's going to secure that right- and take care of a certain birth certificate while he's at it.

As it turns out, Jack is a very territorial man.

"Yes," she answers without elaboration, but it's all the answer he needs and he tries his hardest not to breathe a sigh of relief. Her fingers trace the side of his face as if she's trying to remember every line and angle, to recall every expression she's seen in the last fifteen years, her touch hesitant and soft. "I missed you."

He hears something different in her voice. It's not a "You finally escaped Washington" I-miss-you or even an "I'm finally home from Atlantis," I-miss-you but something considerably deeper than that, something with darkness and pain around the edges that cracks through the last of his foolish, misplaced concern. "It's all right now. You're home," he whispers. Her fingertips move lightly across his lips, too sensitive, and he takes her hand firmly in his, pressing a kiss to her fingers, holding her hand tightly in his.

"I needed you, Jack. Everything that you are. It was- hard." From the look on her face and her habit of downplaying every difficulty, he knows that's just a hint of the nightmare she faced. "It's really only been two weeks for you?"

"Two weeks or a lifetime, I can't tell."

"I've changed," she whispers, her eyes shimmering with tears. "Do you think you still know me?" He feels her hand trembling and he realizes that despite her denials and reassurances what he'd said in the hospital was true, and that she'd damn near fooled him into thinking she'd be fine. And then he can't keep his distance any more.

Sliding his hand firmly up to her shoulder, he rolls onto his back, pulling her along with him until he can enclose her in both arms, hugging her to his chest. "Samantha, God…" his voice cracks and he drops to a whisper just to keep himself in one piece. "I have everything _I_ need to know. Just tell me what _you_ need me to know."

"It's what I need you to do, Jack."

"What?"

"What you always do." It's the easiest request he's ever had because he'll be in love with her until the end of his days. And so he just holds her and as she settles into him the tension slips from her body in his warm embrace, and he feels her pour into him, her life, her soul, her love. But it's far from relaxing, this flux of feeling that causes him to catch his breath and he has nothing to compare it to, no experience of ascension, or Kell-noreem- just that it's certainly like no drug anyone has ever slipped him. And all he wants is more as he shifts her body over him and he finds her mouth with his own, hoping that this is what she needs because he so desperately does.

She moves so smoothly, almost languorously against his solid frame and he responds, bold enough to stroke her back and caress her shoulders, all soft skin and flowing silk. His movements are meant to comfort her, and they do- but they don't calm her and she lifts her head, arching her back against his hands, her hair cascading down around both of them creating one intimate space within another until he moves closer yet, his tongue filling the notch at the base of her throat, his hands beneath her camisole, encircling her ribs within his expansive grasp.

Suddenly flexing the thick, strong muscles of his arms, he lifts her all the way up on him, her knees bent and hugging his waist, and he doesn't let go, holding her there as she pushes a yellow lock behind her ear, blue eyes searching his face. "What?" she asks gently, a brief look of worry in her gaze.

He brings up one hand to her face, cupping her cheek, long fingers indulging themselves in the feel of her hair as he holds the mane back so he can read her expression. "Two years- it's a long time."

She smiles, reading his thoughts. "I've gone longer. And at least I didn't have to look at you every single day of it this time." Her fingers find his shoulders, drifting over the tense muscles and thinking about what she said he remembers all those times he'd made up reasons to touch her. Reasons to look at her, and sometimes when they really needed it, reasons to hold her. He brings up his other hand, cradling her face and pulling her down to him, kissing her eyes, cheeks, mouth and he loves the feel of her hair on his naked skin, silky in his hands but he can't see her, and he has to see her because two years really is a long time after all. So he slowly rolls them both over until she's on her back and he can look at her right down to her fuchsia-painted toes.

His fingers fan out along her perfectly sculpted cheekbone, dragging slowly down the curve of cheek to her jaw, her eyes following his as he draws a single fingertip down her graceful neck, to the curved tan line just beneath her collarbone, her skin amazingly smooth and polished and he recalls something she said about a long hot soak in water she didn't have to heat herself. He leans down and smells flowers on her skin and he can't place it but it smells pink to him. Pink and lavender and sweet and pretty soon he has to taste it, his tongue swirling over her skin, over the top of her breasts while his fingers deftly unlace satin strings and her fingers wind their way through his hair.

Unwrapping her, he exposes her to his eyes and he feels his own breathing quicken with hers, her heart under his fingertips as they continue their exploration. She's softer and fuller than he recalls, and it breaks his heart to think of all the things he missed- things he would have treasured for the rest of his life had he been a part of it. But the sadness quickly fades with the sound of her lovely little pants and his own heart throbbing in his ears while his fingers circle, press and pinch until her eyes flutter shut and her lips part under the intensity of the feeling. She slowly licks her dry lips and he bends down to help her out, running his tongue across them, flicking it across her perfect white teeth, stifling her whimpers while his hand continues to torture her as only he knows how; the slow waves of her twisting hips torturing him as only she can.

He's caught in a current, in deep, and it'd be so easy just to be carried away but he wants this to be perfect for her, to wash away any trace of the past two years even if it's for a few moments. Jack forces himself to break the kiss, dragging himself away from the edge, his face against her neck as he gasps for breath, just a little air while his hand slips down the curve of her waist, holding her hip tight. But she's determined to pull him back under, running her nails lightly across his back, perfectly shaped nails he now suspects she let grow for the specific purpose of tormenting him this way because Carter has a plan for everything. And he lets her do it, shivers down his spine, a sheen of sweat across his body, a river of pleasure and arousal as she rakes them slowly down across his chest and stomach, inquisitive cunning little hands freeing him from his boxers and he decides if she's going to be like that he'll take her down with him.

Sitting up, he escapes momentarily to ease her shorts up over legs, keeping one bent to kiss the tender skin on the inside of her knee, but he doesn't smell lavender, it's hothouse flowers now and he thinks in deep shades of red and blue, kissing up her thigh in slow little bites and gentle brushes of his mouth until he can impose the sweetest torture he can think of, her hands clutching the sheets, hanging on. He doesn't end it there because he wants to be with her when she drowns, so he moves up over her body, licking up the rivulet of sweat that runs between her breasts and then holds her close, secure in his embrace with his lips pressed up against her temple and he whispers sweet magical words he could never even think before while his hands work magic of their own, and she lets go.

Later, when the waves break across both of them, slamming him into her with his fists in her hair and her breath in his lungs, he wonders if this hasn't been about survival all along.

------------------------------------------------------------------

It's not yet daybreak when Jack realizes she's gone and the bed is cold. Before her detour to P3X-124 that kind of thing wouldn't have bothered him because she gets ideas like itches she has to scratch, but he knows her mind hasn't been on her work at all. Without turning on the light, he finds his boxers, slips them on and walks quietly out the open door, regretting having purchased a historical old house with its squeaky floorboards. But Sam's right, Hope sleeps like the dead, and when he opens the door to her room and finds Sam curled up with her on the guest bed he knows they're not there because the baby was fussy in the middle of the night. And he watches them both as something in his heart settles firmly into place and he's made up his mind though he doesn't even know it yet.

-----------------------------------------------

The next morning Jack entertains himself by feeding Hope fruit loops. "Despite the fact that I can't stand these anymore, Hope, they're very special to us."

"Yes," Sam adds, "they remind me of just how sneaky your father can be." Hope doesn't say anything for a change, greedily devouring every fruit loop she can find.

"Did you hear that?" Jack looks at Hope with an exaggerated look of shock on his face. She immediately stops eating and looks at him wide-eyed. He leans over her and whispers secretly, "I didn't even know about you and she calls _me_ sneaky," as he abruptly tickles her neck and makes her laugh, fruit loops flying everywhere.

"You are hopeless." Sam says.

"No, I have one right here," he says, tickling the baby again, "don't I?"

"Gah. Could you possibly be any more mushy?"

"Probably. Can we re-name her Jacqueline?"

"Jackie O?" Sam raises her eyebrows skeptically at the thought as the doorbell rings and she shakes her head as she walks out to answer it. "I do admit I'm glad I could avoid 'Xerxes', though."

Jack looks after her with a surprised expression. He thought she'd been sleeping. "Huh," he says, glancing back at Hope. "She's sneaky, I tell you."

"Sneaky." Hope agrees, adding another word to her repertoire in between fruit loops.

Sam returns to the kitchen after just a few moments, her smile replaced by a look of concern.

"That was quick," Jack says without looking up. "Who was it?"

"A courier."

"Oh." Jack puts the cereal down. As a rule, good news never comes by courier. He looks up just in time to see dismay sweep across her face, her entire body seeming to slump under the news. "I've got a new command." She bites her lip and focuses on Hope, picking a fruit loop off of her shoulder and straightening her bib.

Jack gets to his feet and takes the letter from her hands. Shaking his head he says, "They've got to be kidding. Is this some kind of lame-ass joke?"

"Ironic, isn't it?" Sam says, tears filling her eyes as she watches him read the letter. "I'm shipping out on the _Jack O'Neill._"

--------------------------------------

They don't talk about it again until Hope is down for a nap, but as soon as the door to her room is shut behind him, he nearly vaults down the stairs and finds Sam out on the patio, re-reading the brief letter as if the fifth time around she'll find something different in it. Sitting down beside her in the cool morning air, he leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees, avoiding direct eye contact because he's not sure he can stay rational if he looks into those eyes. Although it would be fair to say he hasn't been completely rational since the day he first saw them.

"I've got several weeks of down time since I spent two years straight on duty." Sam says, trying to find the silver lining. She folds up the letter and tucks it back into its envelope. "That's plenty of time to find someone to help you with Hope."

"I don't want you to go." He's said that before as an expression of a desire- this time it's an expression of intent.

"She'll be all right." Her voice is as confident as can be but there's no mistaking the vacant look in her eyes.

"I'm not talking about her."

Sam nods without answering and Jack knows she understands. They've been building up to this conversation for years, ever since she left Area 51 and went back to the front lines. He's been behind her without reservation in everything she's ever done professionally, and supported her personal decisions even when it killed him to do it. But Jack O'Neill has his limits, and after the experiences of the last few weeks he now knows exactly what they are. What he doesn't understand is why she doesn't know it, too.

"You once told me that lots of people at the SGC have families," Sam reminds him.

"People do," he concurs.

"Just not you," she deduces and he doesn't correct her. She stands and walks a few steps over to a blooming azalea bush, and Jack notices her new toenail polish matches the flowers exactly and that small touch of frivolity seems like a serious message to him. She hasn't read the paper, hasn't surfed the net since she's been home- instead she's done her toes, played with Hope, taken bubble baths and made love with him. Running her fingers absentmindedly along the petals of the flowers, she adds, "I always wondered what you meant when you said you wouldn't be there if things were different."

"Now you know."

She nods. "Yet you also said you'd always be there for me."

He doesn't know how that all adds up but in his mind, it does. "I will. I am."

"But I'm the only one who can decide what to do- if I even have a choice." She turns to him, "I've _never_ refused an assignment."

Jack nods. Unlike him, she's the perfect soldier- and one that the military needs desperately. He doesn't even bother to bring up the fact that she's put in her twenty years and has every right to retire, since neither one of them want her to do that. He stands, buttoning himself back into the service blues because the driver will be there any minute now to take him back to HWS where Landry is waiting. And then it hits him that the answer might be there. _I'm the only one who can decide what to do._ Maybe not. And maybe she's in no condition to be making this decision at all.

"Let's go to Minnesota. I'll just be on my ass reading for the next few weeks. Might as well do it up there."

"They're classified documents," she points out, ever practical.

"I'll figure it out." The doorbell can be heard through the open patio doors and Jack quickly crosses the patio and holds her tight, his face pressed against hers. "You pack."

-------------------------------------------------

Jack enters the house hours later, nearly tripping over a pile of luggage by the door. He'd completely forgotten that babies do not travel light- in fact Hope's baggage outnumbers the grown-ups' by two-to-one. Navigating his way between the portable playpen and a baby backpack, he notices three plane tickets laid out on console table and smiles. He'd be willing to bet the last two seasons of _The Simpsons_ that she still hasn't read her mail, and considering he hasn't seen a single one of those episodes, that means he's very confident of his position. Which makes him a little more confident about what he'd just done over at the Pentagon.

She comes down the steps with Hope on her hip and once again he's struck by what a lucky, lucky man he really is. Hope gives him a baby-toothed grin, already seeming bigger and chubbier even on a diet of Chinese food and fruit loops and with her fine yellow hair sticking out in all directions Jack can finally see a little of himself in her. And as for her mother- Jack hardly knows what to think. Sam's trimmed her hair just a little for now and he's pretty certain she's keeping it long for him, even if it's only temporary. Her tan from P3X-124 still shades down long, elegant legs exposed by an old pair of shorts that have never looked better, he's sure. And that's just what's on the outside. What's inside is what truly sets her apart from everyone else and it's also what worries him the most.

"Daddy's home!" Hope shrieks, and Sam watches with amusement as he turns into jelly right in front of her eyes.

"You know how to play me, don't you?" He says, taking the toddler, but addressing his comments to her mother.

"I _swear_ I did not teach her that." Sam smiles smugly, "But maybe now might be the time to tell you I did buy a new Harley."

He slaps her denim-covered derriere, because he can and because she deserves it for making him fall in love with her in a hundred different ways. "Yeah, right," he scoffs. After all, she's going back out into space. Or at least she thinks she is. He carries Hope into the front room while she plays with the rows of medals on his chest and for once he doesn't even think about flinging off the jacket as soon as humanly possible. But before he sits down with her, he unbuttons the top two buttons, reaches inside and fishes out a piece of paper. "Maybe you _will_ have time for that bike, after all." With his smile changing into his best poker face, he hands her the note. "Your new orders, General."

Her eyes open wide as if she's trying to see in the dark as she scrutinizes his face and then the letter. He has no doubt that everything in there is a dream come true to her and he's just as certain that she'll reject it out of hand. Raising her head, she looks at him with a confused expression. "It's just perfect, Jack. Too perfect."

"Just take it," he says in a strange voice that's partly an order and partly a plea. "It's only a couple of years early, after all."

"You did this?"

Putting their three fates in her hands, he answers, "Yes."

She turns away, the letter vibrating in her grasp. He can't see her expression but only an idiot could miss what's going through her head right now, and Jack admits he might be an idiot regarding a lot of things but he knows a pissed-off woman when he sees one. And there's betrayal on her face, too, which he's never seen before- at least directed at him- and that causes him the kind of pain her anger never could. "Strom, Landry and Schmidt aren't going to do anything they don't want to do, Sam. And neither is the President."

"How did you make them _want_ to do it?"

Boy, she's quick, Jack thinks. Her year in administration taught her well. "I told them I'd stay on as an advisor. Otherwise, I'd just retire."

She stares at him in disbelief. "So they cut their losses."

"Hardly." Jack shakes his head, mustering up a smile. "Landry is older than _me_, even, and if he goes back to the SGC there'll be no new blood in the pipeline for HWS."

"What about Reynolds?"

_That's Sam_, he sighs. She so lacks the killer instinct that it's a miracle she made it to Colonel. Which just goes to show how deserving she really is. "I was already off his Christmas card list, since I ruined his career path just by staying alive." He smiles wryly. "Kinda ironic he'll be sending them from the _O'Neill_."

"Is that fair?"

"Hell, Sam, they did the same to you."

She still looks completely unconvinced.

"It's a win-win-win-win-win-win-…"

"Win." Hope sings.

"…yeah, let's not forget you," he says brightly, then speaking to Sam once again, "…win scenario. If you let it be that way."

"All my life I did things on my own, without my dad intervening. Or you- at least that's what I've thought."

"Don't go there," he warns, because in doing so she not only questions her own competence, but his as well. And if there's one thing he's sure about it's that they've both gone well above and beyond the call of duty for fifteen long, hard years. "Dammit, we _deserve_ this." Hope hears the tone of his voice and stops playing, peering intensely up into his face. Jack gives her a reassuring smile and then sets her down on the floor amidst a vast array of toys.

"This is everything we swore we wouldn't do. And you didn't even discuss it with me!"

Jack closes his eyes for a few moments. He can't say he didn't anticipate every word of what she says, but it still cuts him to the quick to hear it. He rises silently and walks over to the table, flipping open a ticket jacket with one hand while he loosens his tie and collar with the other. "It'll only take me a few minutes to change. We've still got time to catch this flight."

"I'm not sure we should go."

"Sam. " he says, shaking his head, "Would you just take a step back and look at everything you've been through?" But he knows that she'll keep denying she's in trouble until it's too late and at this point in time he's not above calling Dr. Taylor and making it an order if he has to- except it'd destroy any shred of trust in him that she might have left.

He turns and walks wearily up the stairs to the bedroom, the very atmosphere of the house vibrating with the aftershocks of the bomb he just dropped right in the middle of their lives. Yet, the way he sees it, he'd rather blow everything apart with the hope of building it back up again than just let it die a slow, dwindling death. Because the fact of the matter is that he doesn't think any of them can take this any more. He spends a few minutes alone in the room until he hears her slip in behind him and close the door.

"What happened to you?"

"You." He hangs his tie neatly among five others just like it. "And now Hope."

"Are we pawns in a game you have to win?" She knows that's not true but she's hurt and willing to hurt him- that part he understands.

Buttoning his jeans, he turns to her, closing the space between them in two steps. Then slipping his hand behind her neck in a way that would seem threatening except Sam knows better, he locks eyes with her. "Whatever's worth fighting for is worth fighting dirty for."

"Even if it's me?"

"Especially if it's you." He takes a step closer until his bare, broad chest presses hard against her, his face firm against her temple as he slips his hand up to cradle her head. "I'm sorry if you didn't know what you were getting into. I thought I was clear," he says directly into her ear, his voice low and steady as he tightens his free arm around her slim waist. "Don't you remember?"

…_his last rational thought is to drop the P-90 before wrapping her in an over-arm body hold, pulling her nearly off the ground. "Do not," he whispers hoarsely into her damp, clean hair, his arms locked around her, "play games with me, Carter."_

He can feel her gasp more than hear it as the memory breaks the surface in her mind and he holds her tensely to him, close to the breaking point just like they were on that day six years ago. "So- is it a game, Carter? Or are you serious?" Then he steps back and releases her, grabs his shirt off the bed and trots back down the stairs.

TBC………………


	9. Cross Words

_"So- is it a game, Carter? Or are you serious?" Then he steps back and releases her, grabs his shirt off the bed and trots back down the stairs._

-------------------------------------------------

Jack enters the front room to find Hope building something out of blocks. With a deep sigh and a smile he sits down on the floor by her and she grins at him and then starts to explain her newest creation, her babble alarmingly peppered by words like "space" and "thrust", and he wonders how long he has until he has to actually worry about what she might make out of Legos and parts of other toys. He reaches up to the end table and grabs the phone to call the cab company, watching as Sam descends the stairs, and he knows without asking that she's not coming.

Hanging up the phone, he says, "I'd love to take her with me- if you want," even though he knows there's not a chance in hell Sam will say "yes." Just as he predicted, she shakes her head and truth be told, he's relieved because it's abundantly clear she can't bear to be parted from Hope, which of course was one of the many reasons why he did what he did.

He doesn't really know why he's leaving except that she needs some space and time and while they've had way too much of those two commodities lately, they haven't exactly been the right kind. It's easier for him to take off than to uproot Hope and he hangs on to the thought that they'll be here, in his house, for now. "You said you've never turned down an assignment."

She nods gravely.

"Don't turn down this one, Sam." He advises. "No matter what you think of me, just keep in mind what's best for the program- and maybe think of yourself for once."

"Maybe I'm not the right one for the job." She says, "Since I got it by sleeping with you."

He stares at her, completely unable to speak because she just knocked the wind right out of him with her words alone. He turns them around in his head and even though he knows they're not true, he can't find the flaw in her argument. "Well, you can't un-sleep with me can you?" he smiles wryly, "So I can't prove to you that you're the right one for the job."

"No." She says quietly "I'll never really know. You took that honor away from me- because of us."

"Well, if it wasn't for _us_, I'd be dead. And so would you, and we'd have no decisions to make."

She looks at him with an expression of intense concentration, her razor-sharp mind working furiously- and for the first time ever, Jack knows he's finally out-reasoned Samantha Carter.

"But- you had a choice," she finally says.

"Really?" he shrugs, "What would have made me choose something else? And how much does it matter, anyway, with so many bugs in the system?"

"Bugs? What system?" She's puzzled, trying to understand what he's getting at, but he can't explain things like causality and chance.

He hears the horn of the cab, and he takes a step and quickly gives her a quick hug, whispering, "You know- all the other butterflies." Then he reluctantly lets her go, grabs the bag he thinks is his and walks out the door.

----------------------------------

Several days pass up at the cabin, with Jack alternately fishing, reading and drinking far too much beer in the evenings as he sits in one of a pair of rocking chairs with his feet up on the railing, watching the moon on the waters of the pond. His sat phone is busy and it's not long before he realizes this is the best possible plan, because it's going to take two people a long time to straighten out HWS and reign in the IOA. His dreams of a laid-back retirement spent teaching Hope how to fish and play poker might have to wait. But the main thing that concerns him is the fact that he hasn't received any calls from home and on the fifth day he decides it's time to go.

But first he has to find the keys to the old SUV he'd rented. Jack loves to be behind the wheel of something big again and the only global warming he's all that worried about is the kind that comes from nuclear bombs, so he always rents an SUV because they don't rent trucks at the airport. After rifling through every drawer in the house, he finally finds them in the side pocket of his suitcase, and with them, a note. The paper seems worn, but it's neatly folded and he carefully opens it, realizing he's not the one who put it there.

It's the second crossword puzzle, and it's mostly done. He hesitates, because he has a feeling he wasn't supposed to find it- as it turns out he'd picked the wrong suitcase and most of the stuff in it had been hers- he'd just jammed his keys in that pocket when he got here. But he can't help but read it, this personal link to her, and down deep inside there hides the fear that if he doesn't see it now, he might never. He walks out into the kitchen smiling wistfully as he remembers they're doing this one backwards with the answers first and sits down at the old linoleum table in the early morning light.

There are words here he knows very well, such as "prion," "Atlantis" and "Hope", but he can't figure out the significance of several of the words, including one name- John. Who the hell is John? Sheppard? He can't figure out what John's got to do with the two of them on a personal level which is really what these puzzles have been all about. He doesn't lift a pencil to write on the unfinished puzzle, but makes a mental note to check over the list of crewman on the _George Hammond_ and Atlantis just to see if any of those Johns ring a bell. With his mind still concentrating on the puzzle, he folds it up and places it in his wallet next to the first one which is now almost frayed beyond legibility, then grabs the suitcase and hauls it out to the porch. Just as he's locking up the little cabin, the sat phone rings from its place on the front seat of the truck.

"O'Neill," he answers, still distracted as he slips in behind the wheel.

"Hello, General."

Jack grins. "Major Ramirez."

"Welcome back, sir." Jack almost thinks he hears a smile in her voice and then she continues. "The paperwork for your retirement has come through. I just need a final date to process it. Would July 3, 2011 be acceptable?"

"Make it the fourth." Why not? Then he'll be sure to have a big party- every year.

"Yes sir." Now he's positive he hears a smile. "Anything else?"

"Thanks for the picture."

The line is silent for a moment. "I'm just glad you got to see it, Sir."

"Yeah. Me, too."

"And sir- Colonel Carter's promotion ceremony is on the first of July."

He hangs up the phone and a sense of relief floods over him- but he can't help but wonder why he didn't hear the news from Carter herself and the knot in his stomach tightens down smaller and harder than it had been before. Just because she accepts her post doesn't mean she accepts the way she arrived at it.

A few hours later, he's up in the air and the flat, wooded terrain of Minnesota reminds Jack of P3X-124 except there's water here- lots of it, little sparkling diamonds in the setting sun. He leans back in his seat as the cloud cover takes over, something P3X-124 didn't seem to have either, except when it was snowing like a son-of-a-bitch, and then he takes out the crossword puzzle again and thinks about her working on it and the faith she had to have to do it- to keep going, every day. He tries not to think about the fact that almost as soon as she came home, she lost her faith in him almost completely.

But he takes some comfort in that "almost"- because in just a few days time he'll be watching her get her stars and on some level that must mean he wasn't wrong entirely. He's never missed her promotions and he's grateful that it's happening before he can retire so he can crash it without raising eyebrows, because O'Neill isn't entirely sure he'd be invited. In fact, he's not really sure of anything.

Except later that day when he enters his dark house and he's absolutely sure that they're gone. And all that remains is a Father's Day card she left sitting on the table.

----------------------------------------------------------

Sam never was one for making a fuss over herself and so O'Neill's not at all surprised the ceremony is held at the SGC, just like they always have been. He _is_ surprised to see her brother Mark in the small crowd until he recalls that he got clearance when Jacob died. Mark gives him a heartfelt handshake and slap on the back. "Thanks, Jack You'll never know how much this all means to all of us Carters- and Cassie, too," he says.

O'Neill stiffens slightly and replies, "She earned this, Mark."

"Well, of course," Mark says with a shrug. "But I don't mean this General stuff. You _found_ her. And then, of course, there's Hope. I tell you what- I'm almost ready to believe her story about what a big damned hero you are."

O'Neill is a little startled by that. "Thanks, Mark. I guess." His eyes rove across the room, looking for Carter, and he figures she's at the center of a large conglomeration of blue on the far side of the gate room. He'd like to talk to her, but what he has to say can't be said in front of other officers and to congratulate her on her promotion and new command would be nothing short of ridiculous. They've always carried on with business as usual at work, but they've never pretended.

Then Mark says something that snaps Jack's attention back again. "I might even let you marry her, if you ask nicely."

"I _have_ asked," O'Neill says, with a smile that's not quite all there, and he lets it go at that. He sees Colonel Reynolds motioning to him out of the corner of his eye and takes his leave from Mark. "Reynolds."

"Good afternoon, sir." Colonel Reynolds says, and O'Neill has to hand it to the man for not looking like he wants to deck O'Neill right then and there. "We've got a little problem with the ceremony."

"Colonel?" he says, not as a question but as a warning. O'Neill's not about to let anything on the face of the earth or any other planet screw up this day.

"General Landry's schedule got mixed up, and he's stuck in Washington. Would you do the honors, sir?"

"But I'm not her CO," O'Neill points out, because he can't admit out loud that he's one of those things on the face of the earth that could screw up this day.

"Really, sir, she doesn't have one at this point and General Landry suggested you do it. I have his prepared remarks right here if you need them." Reynolds holds up a slim manila folder.

O'Neill looks around at the other high-end brass in the room and decides if he really wants to keep this military and his feelings out of, if he really wants this promotion done right by the superior officer who knows her qualifications better than anyone else, the most appropriate choice is him. "I'd love to," he says, and he motions the folder away because there's nothing in it he doesn't already know by heart. "Just let her know why Landry's not here- she'll be disappointed."

Reynolds smiles with relief and as he turns away O'Neill starts to feel like this day is already turning out to be a hell of a lot better than he ever thought it would be. He watches Reynolds approach Carter and in a few seconds she glances his way. They stare at each other, a secure line of communication that no one else in the room can breach, and then she nods.

He ascends the ramp as the small crowd grows silent, remembering that the last time he walked up this ramp he was on his way to Icarus, only a month ago. A lot has changed since then, he reflects, for him and everyone else in the room. But some things that haven't changed are the qualities and the record of Colonel Samantha Carter- except that they're more remarkable than ever. O'Neill grips the lecturn with both hands, his voice clear and certain and simply lets the accomplishments of the best officer he's ever known speak for themselves. By the time he's finished talking every person in the room is absolutely certain that she deserves to be Brigadier General Samantha Carter. Including, most importantly, the General herself.

"Thank you, Sir," she says as he pins a star to her epaulet, her eyes shining with confidence in a way he hasn't seen since she's been back from P3X-124.

"I couldn't have done it without you," he replies.

After the pomp and circumstance he chats briefly with some of the old-timers at the SGC and then, deciding to stay out of her hair and let her have this well-deserved moment to herself, he heads toward the elevators thinking that he'll just head back to Washington with the other VIPs. But he's not far down the hall when a familiar voice stops him in his tracks.

"Sir," Carter says as he turns around slowly. She looks every bit the general, standing tall and elegant in her perfect blue uniform, the new stars glinting on her shoulders, and he knows that even if she never forgives him he's done the right thing. She's where she needs to be- for the world, the Air Force, herself and for Hope. The only one left out of the equation is him. "Mark's having a little party for me at the house, if you have time."

_How ironic, _he thinks, _you're the one who gave me all the time that I have left._ He studies her for a moment, wondering why after all these years and a child between the two of them, he still doesn't know where he stands with Samantha Carter. "You sure, Carter?" he asks. "It's your party. I don't want things to be awkward."

"It'll be a lot more awkward if you're not there, Sir."

"Keeping up appearances, then?" he says lightheartedly, but his joke falls flat.

"No." She fidgets a little and avoids his eyes, just like she used to do whenever she tried to talk to him about them- back when there wasn't supposed to be a them to talk about. "Hope misses you."

He smiles and nods. "And you?"

After what seems like at least as long as the time he spent orbiting that star pair, she says, "I do, too."

--------------------------------------------------------

Feeling like he's pilfering through another man's closet, Jack picks out a relatively decent shirt, brushes a thin line of dust off the shoulders and gives thanks that men's clothing styles change about once every ten years because no one has touched his things in two. As he buttons the shirt, he remembers the last time he was here and his sight drifts idly around the room, noting with a small sense of reassurance that the new picture of him has replaced the old. Eventually his gaze lands on Sam's little desk in the corner. There's a bundle of mail that looks a lot like what he'd faced at his house in Washington, but what catches his eye is an unusual square envelope from the DC Health Department.

Hearing a sound in the doorway he turns to find Sam standing at a distance from him, dressed in a light blue sundress that shows off the smooth curves of her shoulders, her tan having faded into a creamy white. She still hasn't cut her hair and Jack realizes Carter has figured out how to defy gravity because it's all pinned up and woven and well within regulations, and of course he immediately dreams of taking out each pin one by one, and smoothing his hands over her soft skin. He's at a complete loss for words, but having noticed what held his attention when she came into the room, she nods at the mailing on the desk, "Dr. Kent said there are no guidelines for off-world births, so he filed Hope's certificate from Walter Reed. He didn't want the Health Department wondering where P3X-124 is."

"We've had a lot of firsts, haven't we?" Jack says, unable to stop himself from picking up the envelope. "But this one really takes the cake."

Sam nods, then watching him turn the piece of mail back and forth in his hands, she says gently, "You can open it."

With a sheepish smile, he picks a letter opener off of her desk and carefully opens the envelope, slipping out the top copy and turning on the desk lamp. "Hope Carter O'Neill," he reads.

"She's officially yours."

"Mine," he says thoughtfully. He slips the certificate back into the envelope and lays it down on the desk, then turns to her, taking a step in her direction. "I have to admit, I was kind of hoping it was a package deal."

"Two for the price of one?" she says, a trace of bitterness still in her voice.

"According to you, I sold my soul. So you damn well can bet I'm going to drive a pretty hard bargain."

"I don't forgive you," she states bluntly, but the hard steel color he saw in her eyes the day he left for Minnesota isn't there. Her words still hurt- yet, in his long experience he's found that forgiveness doesn't matter if he's right and it doesn't help if he's wrong. And he also knows that Carter can't hold a grudge.

"That's not what I'm asking you to do," he says calmly, using his special forces training to ignore the gashes she's making on his soul.

"Well, what are you asking me to do?" She's not being defensive- she really doesn't know and the hurt in her eyes matches his.

"It's possible to have brass on your shoulders and gold on your finger."

In spite of herself, a tiny smile slips across her lips. "That's not the most romantic proposal in history."

"There are no guidelines," he says softly, taking her hand. "for proposing to a general."

"Another first?"

"Might be." He looks seriously into her eyes, realizing she really hasn't given him an answer. "So?"

She sighs in defeat. "All right."

He smiles wryly. "That's not the most romantic answer in history, either."

"I love you, Jack. I've always loved you, even when I didn't want to." The way she says that is so sad, so lost that he guesses now is one of those times when she doesn't want to.

"It's a little scary, isn't it?" he says with a low and tender voice, brushing the backs of his fingers across her cheek, "not to be in control?"

"Yes." She takes a step forward, closing all the distance that had come between them.

"Makes you do things you'd never normally do." She doesn't answer him but he knows he's made her think because she doesn't say anything, her arms looped tightly around his waist and her face pressed tightly against his neck. "Like having Hope. Or pulling a few strings."

"I suppose I should just be resigned to my fate," she whispers.

He smiles slightly and whispers back. "In that case, you might as well just get it over with."

-----------------------------------

Jack doesn't really care for anything formal, for fussy parties or in general making a big deal out of any of his accomplishments- except today. Today is different, because today's the day he gets to show off Samantha Carter as his wife, and he's been waiting a very long time. He tries to keep his eyes and hands off of her, but it's not an easy task- and as happy is he is what really thrills him is the look in those big, expressive eyes. She's _happy_. He's not worried that she'll think she made the wrong choice in marrying him- he's just glad that not a single one of those top-of-the-line brain cells of hers are thinking about P3X-124.

"I'm still really mad at you," Cassie whispers over the top of her drink, but well within Jack's range of hearing even over the strains of the string quartet from the Air Force Band. "I would have bought a nicer dress to be your maid of honor. You said this was a retirement party."

"It was a bit spur of the moment," Sam says, radiant in a white satin sheath ending just at her ankles, a dress Jack had picked out himself as he'd be damned if his bride was going to show up in uniform. Although he intended to.

"Yeah, like years. Practically _epic_." Cassie pouts. But her smile brightens a bit as Grant Smith approaches from across the patio, looking quite striking in his Class A blues.

"Smith," Jack smiles. He's glad to see new insignias on Smith's shoulders, too. Between the four of them it feels like they're all taking a big step into the future, a future that might just work out all right after all.

"Sirs," Smith says with a nod, then shoots a smile at Cassie.

"Not for long," Jack says happily, and then noticing the mutual gleam of interest in two pairs of eyes, he adds, "Dr. Cassandra Frasier, this is Lt. Colonel Grant Smith."

"Pleased to meet you, ma'am."

"It's 'Miss'" she says quickly.

"I thought it was 'Doctor,'" Jack teases and Sam squeezes his hand sharply while Cassie blushes and Grant smiles an "aw shucks" farm boy smile.

"It's a military thing," Sam explains, knowing Cassie's own brand-new title has her a little confused regarding proper introductions.

"Yeah, but he called _you_ 'Sir.'" Jack just can't help himself and Sam squeezes hard enough that he's sure his fingers are turning blue. "So I guess that means you listened the advice I gave you back on Icarus, huh, Lt. Colonel?"

"Yes, sir. That's how I earned this rank. I listened to everything she said, even if I never understood a single word of it."

"That wasn't the part I meant." Now it's Sam's turn to blush and Jack thinks there's an even chance he'll lose his fingers entirely but it'll be worth it.

"Oh, that." Smith looks fondly at Sam. "That, I ignored."

"Oh?" O'Neill says.

"I gave it my best shot, Sir, but I couldn't get anywhere with her."

"A billion miles away, and she was still taken." Jack grins proudly.

"Maybe." Smith smiles again at Sam, then turns to Cassie. "Another drink, Miss.. Doctor… Frasier?" Then the two stroll off as Jack swings his arm around Sam's waist and pulls her out onto the patio, away from the guests.

"Maybe?" he says with some consternation, her hand held in his. "What the hell does that mean- 'Maybe'?" He looks in her eyes as he leads, forgetting that he might trip if he takes his eyes off his feet.

She smiles and leans into him, her lips delicately caressing his ear, as tall as he is in her heels. Her golden hair plays across his neck every time he turns her, giving him chills with the memories of the last time he felt it fall on him. "I told him I'd broken the regs while stranded on P3X-124 once already," she whispers, "And look where that got me."

Jack's gaze drifts over to the white cotton covered table top where Teal'c supervises as Hope busily tries to see the effect of adding club soda to wedding cake and the corner of his mouth turns up in a quirky little smile as they spin out of his sight. "Yeah," he agrees, "it's quite a mess."

------------------------

TBC


	10. Epilogue

Warning for a character death. It's no one you know but I hope you'll care.

* * *

_She smiles and leans over to whisper in his ear. "I told him I'd broken the regs while stranded on P3X-124 once already. And look where that got me."_

_Jack's gaze drifts over to the white cotton covered table top where Teal'c supervises as Hope busily tries to see the effect of adding club soda to wedding cake and the corner of his mouth turns up in a quirky little smile as they spin out of his sight. "Yeah," he agrees, "it's quite a mess."_

------------------------------------------

The guests have trailed off and the caterers have cleaned up by the time Jack gets Hope put to bed and Sam all to himself, right beside him on the couch as she reads through a stack of cards congratulating him on his retirement. "Surprised them, didn't we?" he says with satisfaction. She laughs under her breath and Jack leans over to find out that it's a dirty joke penned in by Caldwell and he frowns, lifting it out of her hands with a stern look.

"Quite a surprise," Sam smiles. "Except for Major Ramirez. How did she know?" Her bare feet are propped up on the coffee table, nearly covered by her long white dress and for some reason Jack finds the whole scene oddly endearing.

Jack shrugs. "She knows everything." He kisses the top of Sam's head as she settles into his shoulder. "I suspect she deliberately screwed up Landry's schedule on the day of your promotion, too. 'Cause she never makes mistakes."

"Well, that would make sense."

"Huh?"

"Her first name is Valentina. After the picture thing I thought I'd better check."

Jack chuckles. He'd always thought it was probably Valerie. "Putting her in the puzzle?" He idly runs his fingers through his wife's hair and thinks about names and wonders how to get Carter to change hers, before deciding he should just quit while he's ahead.

"Yeah." Neither one of them speaks for a moment, then she says, "Have you thought about our honeymoon?"

"Not much past the part where you strip me down, tie me up and make me call you 'General'."

"Jack," she says with faint reproach, a touch of amusement in her voice. "I meant we don't have to go to Tahiti. The puzzle isn't finished."

"I know," he confesses.

She's silent for a moment. "You weren't supposed to see that yet." Her voice abruptly changes, guarded and steady now and Jack mentally kicks himself for not putting the puzzle back where it belonged and keeping quiet about the whole thing.

He digs out his wallet and dutifully returns the folded paper. "I took the wrong suitcase and found it accidentally," he says apologetically and he doesn't dare to ask her about the mysterious answers.

She turns the puzzle around in her fingers, contemplating it before enfolding it securely in her palm. "Well, if we do go, Hope has to have a passport."

Jack snorts. "Born on another planet and can't leave the country without ID?" But he's happy she's not dwelling on his transgression with the puzzle and in true Carter form she has focused her attention on the details he would have overlooked. "Good thing you got copies of her birth certificate," he says, but he really wouldn't have expected anything less.

"Did I?" She says absentmindedly, picking up another card.

"Yeah," Jack says, unwinding his arms from around her and getting to his feet to climb upstairs to his office. It's a stupid thing, really but Jack remembers how he loved to see it in writing since he missed out on the real thing and opening the envelope up again he finds it right there, in black and white- well, not white but legal green- Hope Carter O'Neill. He's glad no one's there to see the stupid grin on his face but it makes him feel so good he might not even care. And Carter, remembering to cross the t's and dot the i's did get more copies. Just to be thorough, he checks the other ones over. And it's a good thing, too, because they got his name wrong.

"Close, but no cigar, guys," he says happily to himself. "It's Jonathan, not John." Looking more closely, he realizes they really fucked up this birth certificate beyond belief, with their names mixed up and switched all around. But not even the DC Health Department is _that_ bad- is it? With an uneasy feeling Jack studies the document more closely and sees his name actually is correct, and so is Sam's- both in their proper places. He carefully slides his finger across the paper and notes that the birthdate is right, too- it's the same as Hope's. But her name is missing. His smile fades as his other hand goes to the back of the chair, just to give him something to hang on to while the world turns upside down. There hasn't been a mistake- that much is painfully, breathtakingly clear. The baby's name and time of birth are not _wrong_- they're just _different_.

He already knows what's on the next piece of paper but he can't seem to stop himself from sliding out the third certificate. And oh, has he seen too damn many of these. Neat, cold little facts summarizing the end of a life. After that, he just stops reading altogether and with shaking hands he keeps Hope's birth papers and then puts the rest back in the mailing envelope. His legs are leaden, his thinking processes just as slow, but somehow he makes it down the stairs and into the basement where he slips the remaining papers into the safe he keeps for classified documents, set in concrete and buried deep in the floor. Spinning the dials, he wonders how long those memories can stay locked away before they consume Sam and him from the inside out, just like they did to him before. And then he goes back upstairs, finds her asleep on the couch, and walks out to sit on a patio lounge chair with his head resting back, looking in the general direction of P3X-124 until the sun washes the stars away in the early morning light.

----------------------------------------

The water is warm here, lapping at their feet as they walk down the shoreline, Hope playing in the foam and encased in the wetsuit with the built-in floaties that protect her from the waves and the sun and if Jack had his way there'd be a trinium shell around her, too, but they don't sell those at Wal-mart. Sam walks along beside him with her dress blown against her legs, soft fabric drifting around her body, not so angular but healthy and fit and Jack thinks there must be theoretical limits but she just gets more beautiful by the day, breaking all the laws of physics that he knows. All in all, they're pretty damn happy here but there's something that keeps pulling them back, back to the work and the war and Jack just hopes she's ready.

As if reading his mind she stops, their feet sinking into the sand, and picking up his hand she presses the finished crossword puzzle into it. "It's done," she smiles softly but her grey eyes don't sparkle like they did when she first started the task and he wonders if they ever will again. Looking quickly to the line with the name, he notices with relief that she has left it in. His finger caresses the four short letters and he wonders about his son's four short days of life and then his gaze turns to her face. Tears stream down unrestrained, the pain he's seen in her since he found her finally finding its release as she realizes he already knows the question to the answer.

"How did you figure it out?" she manages to whisper as he tries to wipe the tears away with his thumb, his other hand grasping the paper as it flutters in the tropical breeze.

"Kent filed the other certificates. I guess he thought I knew."

"But he didn't know about Charlie," she whispers.

Of course. Jack should have known she'd sacrifice her own sanity to save his. He remembers Hailey's defensiveness back on the planet and Sam's evasiveness here and he just can't stand the thought of how hard he's been on her, and what he put her through. "God, Sam. I should have- could have done something."

"You did. You risked everything because you thought things weren't right. Back in the hospital I told you that I _know_, but you _understand_."

Taking a deep breath, he looks down at the other answers he doesn't recognize, those two years about which she hasn't breathed a word, hasn't written a report, hasn't even cried out in a nightmare. He realizes that his love and respect for Sam don't have any theoretical limits, either, as he raises his head to watch Hope trying to catch a crab that always makes it to its burrow well before she can.

Sam pulls back a strand of hair that had blown across her face, searching his averted eyes. "I just couldn't bear to tell you, Jack."

He feels the deeply empty, familiar pain of loss, for her and for himself, and he understand that more, much more pain will be coming. But at that moment he also knows that he'll find the strength to shoulder on because, thank God, she needs him to. And as long as she needs him, he'll be there. Finally turning to face her he asks, "Can you now?"

She nods, takes his hand and starts to walk again. "I named him John Carter O'Neill so I could call him Jack...," she begins in slow and halting phrases, "but he could have his own name since his father has pretty big shoes to fill…"

The tide comes slowly in and the sun sets into the deep blue horizon, but for Jack and Sam the sun finally rises on P3X-124.


End file.
